IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Sciences 

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1 

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1                 ■       ;             ' 

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Mi 


THE   SPAN  O'  LIFE 


THE  SPAN  O'  LIFE 

A  Tale  of  Louishourg  &•  Quebec 

By  William    McLennan 

and   J.   N.    MClLWRAITH 

Illustrations    hyF.de    Myrbach 


The  span  &  Life'»  nae  tang  eneugh. 

Nor  deep  eneugh  the  sea. 
Nor  braid  eneugh  this  ireary  tcarld 

To  part  my  Love  frae  me 


NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON: 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS     PUBLISHERS 

TORONTO : 
THE    COPP,    CLARK    COMPANY.    LIMITED 


,:.  ul  lie  UbfafV 
\JnW 


Entered  nccording  to  Act  of  the  Parliament  of  Canada,  in  the  yenr  18»9,  by 
Uabpbr  &,  Bbothbrs,  at  the  Department  of  Agriculture. 


Copyright,  1890,  Ity  IUkpkb  A  Brothkhb. 


All  rigkii  rrterrej. 


PREFACE 


The  reader  familiar  with  the  amnsing  memoirs  of  the 
Chevalier  Johnstone  will  recognise  in  how  far  Maxwell 
was  suggested  thereby ;  if  he  be  equally  familiar  with 
the  detail  of  Canadian  history  of  the  period  he  will  have 
little  ditlicalty  in  discovering  the  originals  of  Sarennes 
and  some  of  the  secondary  characters,  and,  in  the  Epi- 
logue, the  legend  of  the  death  of  the  celebrated  mission- 
ary, le  R.  P.  Jean  Baptiste  de  la  Brosse.  But  while  the 
experience  of  some  actual  man  or  woman  has  suggested  a 
type  to  be  portrayed,  it  is  only  as  a  type,  and  with  no  in- 
tention of  representing  the  individual  in  the  character 
of  the  story.  Nor  is  the  attempt  to  set  forth  the  re- 
spective attitude  of  the  Canadian  and  the  old  -  country 
Frenchman  to  be  read  as  a  personal  expression  of  the 
authors',  but  as  their  conception  of  an  unfortunate  con- 
dition between  colonist  and  official  that  obtained  as  fully 
in  Canada  as  it  did  between  the  same  classes  in  the  Eng- 
lish colonies. 

Long  habit  has  made  the  English  names  of  many 
places  and  positions  so  familiar  to  many  in  Canada  that 
to  adhere  to  the  French  form  in  all  instances  would 
be  as  unnatural  as  to  Anglicise  all  names  throughout — 
which  will  explain  the  lack  of  uniformity  in  this  partic- 
ular. 

The  authors  have  pleasure  in  acknowledging  their  in- 
debtedness to  M.  rAbb6  Casgrain,  of  Quebec,  for  valuable 


PREFACE 


personul  ussistance  in  determining  local  detail,  and  to 
Mtre.  Joseph  Edmond  Roy,  N.P.,  of  L6vi8,  for  informa- 
tion on  the  period  and  the  nse  of  his  version  of  the 
death  of  the  p<^re  de  la  Brosse  from  his  interesting  mono- 
graph, **Tadou8sac." 

W.  McL.  AND  J.  N.  McI. 


CONTENTS 


PART   I 
MAXWELLS   STORY 

OHAPriB  FAOK 

L  "After  Ilian  Floods  Comb  Low  Ebbs" 3 

n.  I  DiscovEU  A  New  Interest  in  Life 10 

in.  "The  Dead  and  the  Absent  are  Always  Wrono"  20 
IV.  In  which  I  Make  Acquaintance  with  One  Near 

TO  Me 27 

V.  I  Assist  at  an  Inter\tew  with  a  Great  Man     .    .  3;{ 
VI.  How    I    Take  to  the    Road   Again,  and  of   the 

Company  I  Fall  in  With 40 

VII.  How  I  Come  to  Take  a  Great  Resolve    ....  51 
VIII.  How  I  Make  Both  Friends  and  Enemies  in  New 

France 63 

IX.  "Joy  and  Sohuow  are  Next-door  Neiohbodrs"    .  73 

X.  "He  who  Sows  Hatred  Shall  Gather  Rue"    .     .  82 

XI.  "A  Friend  at  One's  Back  is  a  Safe  Bridob"       .91 


PART    II 

MARGARET'S   STORY 

XII   What  Happened  in  the  Baie  des  Chaleurs 
Xlll.  Le  Pere  Jean,  Missionary  to  the  Indians 


.  103 

.  loy 


CONTENTS 

CHAPT.K  ,^0, 

XIV.  I  AM  Directed  into  a  New  Path lie 

XV.  The  MARticis  de  Montcalm-Gozon  de  St.  Vbran  123 
XVI.  At  Beaulikd 182 

XVII.  I  Find  Myself  in  a  False  Position 142 

XVIII.  I  AM  Rescued  from  a  Great  Danger  ....  151 

XIX.  On  the  Isle  Aux  Coudres 163 

XX.  At  Quebec 177 

XXI.  I  Awake  from  my  Dream IQO 

XXII.  I  AM  Tortured  by  Myself  and  Others     .    .    .  202 

XXIII.  The  Heights  of  Quebec 220 

XXIV.  Reconciliation 288 

XXV.  A  Forlorn  Hope 245 


PART    III 

MAXWELL'S    STORY 

XXVI.  I  Close  One  Account  and  Open  Another     .    .  257 

XXVII.  I  Find  a  Key  to  my  Dilemma 271 

XXVIII.  I  Make  a  False  Move 286 

XXIX.  I  Put  my  Fortune  to  the  Touch 299 

Epilogue 3Q7 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  '  A  REBEL  WENCH,  LADS,  AND  MUST  SEE  HER  LOVER 

CLOSE  1     ' , Frmitispiece 

*•  'THAT    IS  A  lie!'    SHE   SAID,  CALMLY,  RAISING   IlER 

FACE" Fadngp.     20 

"  'WHY  DO  YOU   SLEEP  IN   YOUR  CLOTHES?'"      ...  '*  28 

"  '  OH,  YOUR  GRACE,  YOUR  GRACE,   HE   IS  ALL   I  HAVE 

LEFT  IN  THE   WORLD  I'  " "  86 

"  HE  ORDERED  III8  MEN  TO  GIVE  WAY  IN  A  VOICE  THAT 

SUGGESTED  THE   CLAP   OF   A   PRISON   DOOR  "        .       .  "  48 
"how  I  MADE  THEM  LAUGH  OVER  MY  APPEARANCE  !  "           *'  W 
"SHE  STOOD  ERKCT,  HER  FACE  WHITE  WITH  EMOTION  "           "  60 
"  '  M.  LE  LIEUTENANT,  YOU   HAVE  MY   SINCERE8T  SYM- 
PATHY !'  " «'  70 

"  I  CRAWLED  OUT  BRUISED,  BUT  OTHERWISE  UNHURT"  "  88 

"' CHEVALIER,   I   KNOW   YOU   NOW '" "  92 

"AND  LAID  THEM   GENTLY  ON  THE   STREAM"     ...  "         104 

"  THE  PRIEST  RECITED  THE  HOLY  OFFICE  OF  THE  MASS"  "  110 

"  'THEKE  IS  LITTLE   I  WOULD  NOT  DO  TO  PLEASE  LE 

pArejean'" "        128 

"  '  THESE  LETTERS  CHANGE  A  DUTY  INTO  A  PLEASURE  '  "  "         136 
"  THE   TWO   MEN    STOOD    PACING    EACH    OTHER   IN    SI- 
LENCE " «'         158 

"  A  STRAIGHT  PILLAR  OF  FIRE  WENT  LEAPING  UP  INTO 

THE  night" *'         100 

"  HE    CARRIED    ME    THROUGH    MUD    AND    WATER,   AND 

SET   ME    IN    HIS   SHALLOP  " "  166 


I 


t  H 

t    ; 

V, 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  AND,  BOWINO  LOW,  ANSWERED   HER  UVELY  GRBET- 

INO" Facing  p.  19C 

"TANTUM  BUOO  8ACRAMBNTUM  YENEREMUR  CBRNUl"  "  198 

"  WE  MADE   A  SAD  LITTLE  PROCESSION  " "  214 

"  'KEEP  UP,  MY  LAD;    YOU   ARE  AMONG  i'RIENDSl'".  "  216 

"  WITH  HAT   IN  HAND  CAME  SPURRING  ON  "...      .  "  228 
"  'HE  THAT  DWELLBTH  IN  THE  SECRET  PLACE  OF  THB 

MOST  HIGH'" "  230 

"  SHE  SHORTENED  UP  STRAPS  AND  ADJUSTED  BUCKLES"  "  252 

"  •  CALL  OFF  YOUR  MEN,  CAPTAIN  NAIRN  I'"        ...  "  260 
"HE   THREW  UP  HIS   HANDS  WITH  A  WEAK  CRY  AND 

COVERED  HIS  PACE" "  266 

"LIFTING  HIS   LANTHORN,    HE   HELD  IT  80  THAT  THB 

LIGHT  SHONE  FULL  UPON   HER" "  268 

'•  '  I   TAKE    IT    FOR    GRANTED    YOU    ARE    A   NON  -  COM- 
BATANT '  "    "  276 

"  'THB  SPAN  O'  LIFB'S  NAB  LANG  ENBUGH,'"  ETC.      .  "  806 


part  f 
MAXWELL'S  STOKY 

''Better   the  world  shrndd  know  yim  as  a  rinner  than  God  a»  a 
Aj(pocrt<«."— Old  Proverb.  «»  «•  » 


I 


THE  SPAN   0'  LIFE 


CHAPTER  I 


"AFTER   HIGH   FLOODS   COME   LOW   EBBS 


n 


Every  one  knows  of  my  connection  with  the  ill-starred 
Rebellion  of  Prince  Charles,  and  for  this  it  was  that  I 
found  myself,  a  few  months  after  the  disaster  of  Cullo- 
den,  lying  close  in  an  obscure  lodging  in  Greek  Street, 
Soho,  London. 

Surely  a  rash  proceeding,  yoTi  may  say,  this  adventur- 
ing into  the  lion's  den!  But  such  has  not  been  my  ex- 
perience :  in  an  escalado,  he  who  hugs  closest  the  enemy's 
wall  has  often  a  better  chance  than  he  who  lies  at  a 
distance.  And  so  I,  Hugh  Maxwell  of  Kirkconnel,  Chev- 
alier of  the  Order  of  St.  Louis,  Captain  en  seconde  in 
Berwick's  Foot  in  the  service  of  His  Most  Christian  Maj- 
esty, and  late  Aide -de -Camp  to  General  Lord  George 
Murray  in  the  misdirected  affair  of  His  Royal  Highness 
Charles,  Prince  of  Wales  and  Regent  for  his  illustrious 
father,  "Jacobus  Tertius,  Rex  Angliae,  Hiberniae,  et 
FranciaB,  Dei  Gratia  " — Heaven  save  the  mark  ! — found 
it  safer  and  more  to  my  taste  to  walk  abroad  in  London 
under  the  nose  of  the  usurping  but  victoricus  Hano- 
verian than  to  continue  skulkirg  under  the  broader 
heavens  of  the  Highlands. 

I  will  not  deny  there  were  moments  when  I  would 

3 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


rather  have  been  enjoying  the  clearer  atmosphere  of 
France  (for  it  is  easier  to  put  a  brave  face  on  such 
dangers  once  they  are  safely  overcome  than  bear  them 
with  an  unruffled  fortitude  at  the  time) ;  but  there  I 
was,  with  just  enough  money  to  discharge  my  most 
pressing  necessities,  with  the  precious  Cause  for  which 
I  had  sacrificed  my  hopes  of  advancement  in  my 
own  regiment  blown  to  the  four  corners  of  the  High- 
lands— more  remote  and  unknown  up  to  this  time  than 
the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  though  to  all  appearance 
about  to  undergo  such  a  scouring  when  I  left  them  that 
they  would  be  uninhabitable  for  any  one  who  was  not 
born  with  the  Broad  Arrow  printed  on  his  back. 

I  was  lodging  in  the  attic  of  a  disreputable  pot- 
house, kept  by  one  of  those  scurvy  Scots  who  traded  on 
his  repnted  disloyalty  as  a  lure  to  entice  unfortunate 
gentlemen  in  similar  plight  to  myself  under  his  roof, 
and  then  job  them  off  to  the  government  at  so  much  a 
head  ;  but  this  I  only  knew  of  a  certainty  later. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  I  was  relieved  from 
my  penury  at  least,  for  my  cousin.  Lady  Jane  Drum- 
mond,  who  since  my  childhood  had  stood  towards  me  in 
the  relation  of  a  mother,  hearing  from  me  of  my  posi- 
tion, raised  me  above  all  anxiety  in  that  respect. 

I  cannot  help  reflecting  here  on  the  inopportuneness 
with  which  Providence  is  sometimes  pleased  to  bestow  its 
gifts ;  the  starving  wretch,  houseless  in  the  streets,  has 
an  appetite  and  a  digestion  which,  in  this  regard,  make 
him  the  envy  of  the  epicure,  dowered  with  a  wealth  use- 
less in  its  most  cherished  application.  And  though  in- 
gratitude has  never  been  one  of  my  faults,  was  it  possible 
not  to  feel  some  resentment  at  the  comparative  useless- 
ness  of  a  blessing  which  fell  at  a  time  when  I  was  de- 
barred from  any  greater  satisfaction  than  paying  my 
mean  obligations  or  helping  some  more  needy  unfortu- 
nate, while  forced  to  look  on  those  pleasures  incidental 

4 


»M«nMW«1r4ipi 


"AFTER  HIGH  FLOODS,  LOW  EBBS" 

to  a  gentleman's  existence  with  the  unsatisfied  eye  of 
forbidden  indulgence  ? 

The  banker,  Mr.  Drummond  of  Charing  Cross,  who 
was  an  old  family  friend,  and  through  whom  I  had  re- 
ceived my  remittance,  could  or  would  give  me  no  definite 
information  of  the  movements  of  my  cousin.  Lady  Jane, 
or  of  her  probable  arrival  at  London,  so  I  had  nothing 
to  do  but  await  further  news  and  occupy  my  time  as 
best  I  might. 

On  my  arrival  I  had  laid  aside  all  the  outward  marks 
of  a  gentleman,  dressing  myself  in  imitation  of — say  a 
ficrivener's  clerk— and,  save  for  that  bearing  which  is  in- 
corporate with  one  of  my  condition  and  becomes  a  second 
nature,  not  to  be  disguised  by  any  outward  cloak,  I 
might  fairly  well  pass  for  my  exemplar. 

It  was  along  in  the  month  of  July,  when  having  be- 
come habituated  to  my  situation  I  was  accustomed  to 
move  about  with  greater  freedom,  that  being  in  Fleet 
Street,  I  made  one  of  the  crowd  to  gaze  at  the  horrid 
spectacle  of  the  heads  of  the  unfortunate  Messieurs 
Towncley  and  Fletcher  displayed  on  Temple  Bar,  whose 
crnel  fate  I  had  only  escaped  by  my  firm  resolution  in 
withstanding  the  unreasonable  demands  of  the  Duke  of 
Perth  to  remain  behind  in  their  company  in  Carlisle. 

"  Your  Grace,  though  I  am  willing  to  shed  the  last  drop 
of  my  blood  for  Prince  Charles,"  I  had  answered,  with 
great  firmness,  **'  I  will  never  allow  myself  to  be  marked 
out  as  a  victim  for  certain  destruction,"  and  I  held  to 
my  place  in  the  retreat. 

At  such  times  the  least  error  in  judgment  is  certain  to 
be  attended  by  a  train  of  inevitable  disaster,  and  apart 
from  my  own  personal  escape,  for  which  I  am  duly 
thankful,  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  me  that  his  Grace  later 
on  most  handsomely  acknowledged  himself  to  have  been 
in  the  wrong. 
Bat  to  return  :  I  was  plunged  in  these  sombre  reflec- 

5 


THE    SPAN   O'   LIFE 


■)      ' 


tions  when  I  heard  a  cry  near  me,  a  cry  that  has  never 
appealed  to  my  support  in  vain  —  that  of  a  lady  in  dis- 
tress. I  turned  at  once,  and  there,  in  full  view  of  my 
sympathising  eyes,  was  as  fair  an  object  as  I  ever  looked 
upon.  An  unfortunate  lady,  overcome  by  the  sights  and 
sounds  about  her,  had  fallen  back  on  the  shoulder  of 
her  maid,  who  supported  her  bravely  ;  her  black  silken 
hood  had  been  displaced,  and  her  rich  amber-coloured 
hair  in  some  disorder  framed  her  lovely  face.  Another 
moment  and  I  was  beside  them,  shifting  the  unconscious 
lady  to  my  left  arm,  to  the  great  relief  of  the  maid,  who 
at  once  recognised  my  quality  in  spite  of  my  disguise. 

"  Spy  'em  close,  my  beauty  !  Spy  'em  close  !  Only  a 
penny  P  shouted  a  ruffian,  holding  a  perspective -glass 
before  jthe  unhappy  lady.  **A  rebel  wench,  lads,  and 
must  see  her  lover  close  !"  But  I  cut  his  ribaldry  short 
with  a  blow  in  the  face,  and  with  my  foot  pushed  off  a 
wretched  hag  busily  engaged  in  trying  to  find  the  pocket 
of  my  poor  charge,  and  made  immediate  move  to  with- 
draw her  from  the  crowd. 

But  my  efforts  were  met  with  a  storm  of  curses  and 
howls  from  the  scum  about  us,  and  matters  were  fast  grow- 
ing serious,  when  a  most  genteelly  dressed  man  pushed 
in  beside  us,  and,  with  sword  in  hand,  soon  cleared  a 
way,  which  I  threaded  with  a  determined  countenance. 
A  moment  or  two  concluded  tlie  affair,  and  we  were  safe. 

The  lady  recovered  with  surprising  spirit,  and  turning 
to  the  new-comer,  cried  :  **  Oh,  Gaston!  It  was  horrible 
beyond  words  !"  and  she  clasped  his  arm  with  both  her 
shapely  hands. 

We  hurried  on  without  further  speech,  looking  for  a 
hackney-coach;  and  when  this  was  found  and  hailed, 
the  lady  turned,  and  holding  out  her  hand  to  me,  said : 
"  Sir,  forgive  the  discomposure  which  prevented  my 
sooner  acknowledgment  of  your  services.  What  would 
have  become  of  me  without  your  aid  ?    I  cannot  say  half 

6 


"AFTER  HIGH  FLOODS,  LOW  EBBS' 


s  never 

in  dis- 

of  my 

looked 

hts  and 

ilder  of 

L  silken 

olonred 

Another 

nscious 

id,  who 

uise. 

Only  a 

re- glass 

,ds,  and 

ry  short 

ed  off  a 

J  pocket 

to  with- 

ses  and 
3t  grow- 
pushed 
eared  a 
Bnance. 
re  safe. 

nrning 
liorrible 

th  her 

for  a 
[hailed, 
said  : 
)d    my 
would 
lay  half 


what  I  feel ;"  and  the  lovely  creatnre's  eyes  filled  as  she 
spake. 

**  My  dear  young  lady,"  I  said,  bending  over  and  kiss- 
ing her  hand,  "you  could  say  nothing  that  would 
heighten  the  Iiappiness  I  have  had  in  being  of  service  to 
you  ;"  and  in  order  not  to  add  to  her  generous  embarrass- 
ment I  handed  her  into  the  coach,  whereupon  our  common 
rescuer  giving  a  direction  to  the  man,  which  I  did  not 
overhear,  she  and  her  maid  drove  off.  Then,  not  to  be 
behind  so  fair  an  original,  I  turned  and  complimented 
the  stranger  upon  his  timely  succour. 

*' Sir,"  said  he,  in  French,  ''I  perceive,  from  some 
sufficient  reason,  which  I  can  readily  divine,  it  is  con- 
venient for  you  to  appear  in  disguise." 

''  Truly,  monsieur,"  I  returned,  "  I  did  not  hope  that 
a  disguise  would  protect  me  from  a  discerning  eye  such 
as  yonrs,  but  it  suffices  for  the  crowd.  I  am  certain, 
though,  that  I  confide  in  a  gentleman  when  I  say  I  am 
Hugh  Maxwell  of  Kirkconnel,  late  captain  in  Berwick's 
Foot,  and  am  entitled  to  qualify  myself  as  Chevalier." 

''  And  I,  Chevalier,"  he  replied,  with  equal  frankness, 
*'  am  the  Vicomte  Gaston  de  Trincardel,  at  present  on  a 
diplomatic  mission  towards  the  Court." 

Being  equally  satisfied  with  each  other's  condition, 
we  repaired  to  his  lodgings  in  St.  James's  Street,  where 
we  fell  into  familiar  conversation,  in  the  course  of  which 
the  Vicomte  said, 

**  I  suppose  I  am  correct  in  my  belief  that  you  have 
been  engaged  in  the  affair  of  Charles  Edward  ?" 

**  Unfortunately,  yes." 

*'  Is  there  any  reliable  intelligence  of  his  whereabouts?" 

"  To  be  absolutely  frank  with  you,  my  dear  Vicomte, 
it  is  a  matter  of  the  most  perfect  indifference  to  mo 
where  he  is,  or  what  becomes  of  him." 

"  Heavens  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  cannot  understand 
such  a  feeling." 

7 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

"  Had  yon  seen  as  much  of  him  as  I  did,  even  when  he 
was  trying  to  appear  at  his  best  as  Fitzjames  ;  had  you 
been  a  daily  spectator  of  the  inconceivable  folly  with 
which  every  chance  was  mismanaged,  every  opportunity 
let  slip  ;  of  the  childish  prejudice  with  which  every  true 
friend  was  estranged,  and  of  the  silly  vanity  which  daily 
demanded  new  incense  during  the  whole  of  this  misera- 
ble affair — you  might  understand  without  difficulty,"  I 
returned,  with  some  little  heat. 

"But,  Chevalier,"  he  inquired,  soothingly,  "may  I 
ask  why  you  followed  his  fortunes  ?" 

**  From  that,  Vicomte,  which  I  doubt  not  has  ever 
guided  your  own  course  in  life,  from  the  one  motive  that 
has  alone  influenced  me — principle.  My  people  followed 
the  fortunes  of  his  grandfather  after  the  Boyne,  and  on 
both  sides  of  my  house.  Maxwells  and  Geraldines,  our 
name  has  been  synonymous  with  loyalty  to  the  Stuart 
cause  abroad  as  well  as  at  home." 

"I  know  your  name  and  its  equivalent,  Chevalier. 
May  I  ask  to  which  branch  you  belong  ?" 

"  I  scarce  know  how  to  qualify  my  standing,"  I  an- 
swered, laughing;  "we  have  been  proscribed  rebels  so 
long  that  1  have  lost  touch  with  those  things  men  most 
value  in  regard  to  family.  Just  as  I  am  a  Chevalier 
without  so  much  as  a  steed  whereon  to  mount  my  knight- 
ship,  so  am  I  a  Maxwell  of  Kirkconnel  without  title  to  a 
rood  of  ground  or  a  kinsman  within  measurable  distance ; 
and  my  father  before  me  held  naught  he  could  call  his 
own  save  his  honour,  my  lady  mother,  and  my  unworthy 
self.  No  !  if  there  be  a  Spanisii  branch,  I  swear  I'll  lay 
claim  to  that,  for  'tis  Spain  assuredly  that  must  hold  my 
flocks  and  herds,  not  to  name  my  chateaux." 

"  Chevalier,"  he  began,  earnestly,  "I  shall  esteem  it  a 
favour — " 

"  Not  for  the  world,  my  dear  Vicomte  !  Money  is  the 
one  anxiety  which  seldom  causes  me  a  second  thought. 

8 


^  \ 


tmrn 


X-^ 


"AFTER  HIGH  FLOODS,  LOW  EBBS" 

My  habit  of  life  is  simple,  and  my  only  ambition  my  pro- 
fession. But  to  go  back  to  the  happy  chance  of  our 
meeting,  may  I  inqnire,  without  indiscretion,  the  name 
of  the  young  lady  whom  yon  rescued  ?" 

"  Oh,  come,  come  I  Honour  where  honour  is  due.  I 
am  no  more  responsible  for  the  rescue  than  yourself.  The 
young  lady  is  a  Miss  Grey,  living  with  her  aunt  in  tem- 
porary lodgings  in  Essex  Street,  off  the  Strand.'* 

**  I  have  a  suspicion,  sir,  that  the  name  may  be  as  tem- 
porary as  her  lodging,  and  that  I  am  fortunate  in  apply- 
ing to  one  who  can  give  me  reliable  information." 

To  this,  however,  the  Vicorate  only  bowed  somewhat 
stiffly,  and  being  unwilling  that  any  contretemps  should 
arise  to  mar  so  promising  an  acquaintance — though  the 
Lord  only  knows  what  umbrage  any  one  could  take  from 
my  remark — I  made  my  adieux,  the  Vicomte  most  oblig- 
ingly offering  me  his  services  should  I  wish  to  pass  over 
to  France.  But  of  these  I  could  not  as  yet  avail  myself, 
as  it  was  necessary  I  should  know  of  Lady  Jane's  inten- 
tions more  definitely ;  so,  with  my  acknowledgments, 
the  interview  ended. 

8 


I 


I 


CHAPTER  II 


I   DISCOVER   A   NEW   INTEREST  IN   LIFE 


il  !i  1 


I 


On  my  way  back  to  Soho  I  turned  over  matters  with 
interest.  I  had  but  little  difficulty  in  placing  the  Vicomte ; 
he  was  one  of  those  clear,  simple  souls,  very  charming  at 
times  in  woman,  but  less  acceptable  in  the  man  of  the 
world. 

No  one  can  admire  purity  of  mind  in  a  woman  more 
than  myself,  but  I  have  no  hesitation  in  stating  that  at 
times  I  find  it  positively  disconcerting  when  displayed  in 
too  obvious  a  degree  by  a  man.  In  woman,  it  is  to  be 
desired  above  all  things,  and  woman  is  so  far  superior 
to  man  in  the  manipulation  of  the  more  delicate  qualities, 
that  she  seldom  errs  in  her  concealments,  and  when  she 
reveals,  she  does  so  at  the  most  opportune  moment,  and 
80  effectively  that,  though  it  be  no  more  than  a  glimpse, 
it  suffices. 

And  these  reflections  brought  me  naturally  to  Miss 
Grey ;  indeed,  in  fancy  I  had  never  been  away  from  her 
since  we  met.  The  Vicomte's  manner  absolutely  confirmed 
me  in  my  belief  that  the  name  was  assumed. 

Now  if  a  man  does  not  wish  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and 
the  occasion  be  important,  he  has  just  one  of  two  alter- 
natives :  the  one,  is  to  tell  a  lie  with  such  assurance  and 
bearing  that  it  carries  conviction  with  it ;  but,  egad  !  if 
he  won't  do  that,  then  the  only  other  is  to  run  yon 
through. 

The  Vicomte  not  having  been  ready  for  either,  I  was 
80  far  in  his  confidence  that  I  knew  '*  Miss  Grey  "  was  an 

10 


I  DISCOVER  A  NEW  INTEREST   IN  LIFE 


assumed  name ;  and  I  shrewdly  snspected,  from  the 
fiuniliarity  of  her  manner  with  him,  that  their  mutaal 
relation  might  be  closer  than  he  cared  to  admit — a  suspi- 
cion I  resolved  to  put  to  the  touch.  Accordingly,  the  next 
day  I  made  as  careful  a  toilet  as  my  cursed  disguise 
would  admit  of,  and  took  my  way  to  Essex  Street. 

Giving  my  name  to  the  man  at  the  door,  for  the  lodg- 
ings were  genteel  beyond  the  ordinary,  which  advanced 
me  in  my  surmise  as  to  the  fair  one's  condition,  I  was 
ushered  into  a  drawing-room,  which  would  have  been 
much  better  for  a  little  more  light  than  was  permitted 
to  enter  through  the  drawn  curtains. 

In  a  few  moments  the  door  opened  and  an  elderly  lady 
entered,  whom  I  conjectured  to  be  the  aunt. 

"  Madam,"  I  said,  bowing  low,  **  it  was  my  good  fort- 
une to  be  of  some  slight  service  to  your  niece  yesterday, 
and  I  have  ventured  to  call  and  inquire  if  the  shock  has 
proved  at  all  serious.     My  name,  madam,  is — " 

"  Tut,  tut,  boy  !  None  of  your  airs  and  graces  with 
me  !  Your  name  is  Ilughic  Maxwell,  and  mauy's  the 
time  I've  skelped  you  into  good  manners.  Come  here 
and  kiss  your  old  cousin,  you  scamp  !"  And  without 
waiting  for  me  to  comply  with  her  invitation,  she  threw 
her  arms  about  me  and  discomposed  me  sadly  enough 
with  an  unexpected  outburst  of  weeping. 

When  she  had  recovered  somewhat  we  settled  down  to 
explanations  ;  questionings  from  her  and  answers  from 
me,  until  at  length  she  was  satisfied  on  all  my  movements. 
Then  came  my  turn,  and  I  began  with  a  definite  object 
in  view,  but  carefully  guarding  my  advances,  when  she 
cut  my  finessing  short: 

**Now,  Hughie,  stop  your  fiddle-faddle,  and  ask  me 
who  '  my  niece '  is.  You  stupid  blockhead,  don't  you 
know  your  curiosity  is  peeking  out  at  every  corner  of 
your  eyes  ?    *My  niece*  is  Margaret  Nairn." 

**  A  relation  of  Lord  Nairne  ?" 

11 


).  .,■ 


M 


■Qi 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


tt 


■hi\ 


No  one  would  connt  her  so  save  a  Highlander;  they 
are  from  the  far  North,  not  the  Perth  people ;  but  don't 
interrupt !  Her  mother  and  I  were  school-mates  and 
friends  somevvliat  more  tlian  a  hundred  years  ago.  I 
have  had  the  girl  with  me  in  Edinburgh  and  Paris,  and 
when  I  found  she  was  doomed  to  be  buried  alive  with 
her  father  in  their  lonely  old  house  in  the  Highlands,  and 
neither  woman  nor  protector  about,  I  took  her,  the  child 
of  my  oldest  frier d,  to  my  care,  and  at  no  time  have  I 
been  more  thankful  than  now,  when  the  whole  country 
is  set  by  the  ears.  We  are  in  London  masquerading  as 
'Mistress  Grey  and  her  niece,'  as  her  only  brother, 
Archie,  an  officer  in  the  French  service,  is  mixed  up  in 
this  unfortunate  affair,  and  it  is  probably  only  a  matter 
of  time  until  he  gets  into  trouble  and  will  need  every 
effort  I  may  be  able  to  put  forth  in  his  behalf.  No,  you 
have  not  come  across  him,  for  he  was  on  some  secret 
mission ;  and  it  is  possible  he  may  not  have  set  foot  in 
Scotland  at  all.  We  can  but  wait  and  see.  Now  that 
your  curiosity  is  satisfied,  doubtless  you  are  longing  to 
sae  the  young  lady  herself ;  but  let  me  warn  you.  Master 
Hughie,  I  will  have  none  of  your  philandering.  Mar- 
garet is  as  dear  to  me  as  if  she  were  my  own  daughter 
born,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once  I  have  plans  for 
her  future  with  which  I  will  brook  no  interference." 

"  May  I  ask,  cousin,  if  your  plans  include  M.  de  Trin- 
cardel  ?" 

**  My  certes  !  But  it  is  like  your  impudence  to  know 
my  mind  quicker  than  I  tell  it.  Yes,  since  you  must 
know,  a  marriage  is  arranged  between  them,  and  I  have 
pledged  myself  for  Margaret's  fitting  establishment. 
There  it  is  all,  in  two  words ;  and  now  I  am  going  for 
the  young  lady  herself.    See  that  you  congratulate  her." 

Do  not  imagine  that  her  conditions  cost  me  a  second 
thought,  nor  the  declaration  of  her  future  intentions  a 
pang.    My  coasin  was  a  woman,  and  as  such  was  privi- 


I  DISCOVER  A   NEW   INTEREST   IN  LIFE 


H 
r 


leged  to  change  her  mind  as  often  as  she  chose,  and  I 
was  still  young  enough  not  to  be  worried  by  the  thought 
that  some  day  I  might  not  be  the  one  called  upon  to 
step  into  her  comfortable  shoes.  As  for  theVicomte,  he 
must  play  for  his  own  hand.  So  I  awaited  with  impa- 
tience the  appearance  of  my  fair  supplanter. 

She  was  much  younger  than  I  had  supposed,  not  more 
than  sixteen;  but  if  I  had  been  mistaken  in  her  age,  I  had 
not  over-estimated  her  beauty.  Her  hair  was  really  the 
same  rich  amber-colour  that  had  awakened  my  admiration; 
her  forehead  was  broad  and  low ;  her  eyes  between  hazel 
and  gray,  with  clear,  well-marked  brows ;  her  nose  straight 
and  regular ;  and  her  mouth,  though  not  small,  was  beau- 
tifully shaped,  with  the  least  droop  at  the  corners,  which 
made  her  expression  winsome  in  the  extreme.  Her  face 
was  a  little  angular  as  yet,  but  the  lines  were  good,  and 
her  slightly  pointed  chin  was  broken  by  the  merest  shadow 
of  a  dimple.  She  was  taller  than  most  women,  and  if 
her  figure  had  not  rounded  out  to  its  full  proportion,  her 
bearin[!f  was  noble  and  her  carriage  graceful. 

Difficult  as  it  is  for  me  to  give  even  this  cold  inven- 
tory of  her  charms,  the  sweet  witchery  of  her  manner, 
the  full  of  her  voice,  the  v/iuning  grace  that  shone  in  her 
every  look,  are  beyond  my  poor  powers  of  description. 
I  felt  them  to  my  very  heart,  which  lay  in  surrender  at 
her  feet  long  before  I  realized  it  was  even  in  danger. 

Our  friendship  began  without  the  usual  preliminaries 
of  acquaintance.  My  sacrifices  in  the  Prince's  cause 
were  known  to  her  through  Lady  Jane ;  indeed,  when  I 
saw  her  noble  enthusiasm,  it  fired  me  till  I  half  forgot 
my  disappointments,  and  was  once  more  so  fierce  a  Jacob- 
ite that  I  satisfied  even  her  sweeping  enthusiasm. 

If  anything  further  was  needed  to  heighten  our  mutual 
interest,  it  was  forthcoming  in  the  discovery  that  I  had 
been  aide-de-camp  to  Lord  George  Murray,  whom  she 
rightly  enough  regarded  as  the  mainspring  of  the  euter- 

18 


h 


I 


THE    SPAN    0'   LIFE 


'3 


prise,  and  to  whom  she  may,  in  Highland  fashion,  have 
been  in  some  degree  akin. 

Naught  would  satisfy  her  but  that  I  should  tell  the 
story  of  ray  adventures,  should  describe  the  Prince  a 
thousand  times — which  I  did  with  every  variation  I  could 
think  of  to  engage  her  admiration — should  relate  every 
incident  and  conversation  with  Lord  George,  which  I  did 
the  more  willingly  that  I  loved  him  from  my  heart,  and 
it  required  but  little  effort  to  speak  of  a  man  who  had 
played  his  part  so  gallantly. 

With  Lady  Jane  as  moved  as  Margaret  herself,  we  sat 
till  late,  and,  like  Othello,  I  told  to  the  most  sympathis- 
ing ears  in  the  world  the  story  of  my  life.  They  forgot 
the  hour,  the  place,  and  all  but  the  moving  recital ;  and 
I  saw  only  the  glistening  eyes,  sometimes  wide  with 
horror,  sometimes  welling  over  with  tears,  and  sometimes 
sparkling  with  humour,  until,  like  the  Moor,  I  could  al- 
most persuade  myself  that 

"Sbe  lov'd  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd, 
And  I  lov'd  her  that  she  did  pity  them." 

**  Come,  come,  Hughie  !  "We'll  have  no  more  of  this  ! 
The  child  will  never  close  her  eyes  this  night,  and  you 
should  be  ashamed,  making  an  exhibition  of  an  old  fool 
of  a  woman  !"  suddenly  cried  Lady  Jane,  rising  and  wip- 
ing her  eyes  when  I  had  finished  telling  of  the  death  of 
young  Glengarry  at  Falkirk.  And  half  laughing,  half 
crying,  she  kissed  me  and  pushed  me  out  of  the  room,  be- 
fore I  had  opportunity  to  take  a  fitting  farewell  of  Mar- 
garet, Pearl  of  all  Women. 

**  If  the  Vicomte  can  make  any  running  that  will  count 
against  this,  I'll  be  much  surprised,"  I  thought  to  myself 
as  I  picked  my  way  home  under  a  warm  drizzle  through 
the  dirty,  ill-lighted  streets.  But  outward  discomfort^ 
mattered  not  a  whit  to  me,  for  I  had  eaten  of  the  fruit  of 
the  gods,  and  that  night  I  journeyed  in  the  sunlight  of 

U 


^  til 


I  DISCOVER  A   NEW   INTEREST  IN   LIFE 

the  Pays-dn-Tendre,  beariug  in  my  heart  the  idol  to 
which  my  sonl  did  homage,  as  I  hummed  over  the  song 
of  some  dead  and  forgotten  but  valiant-hearted  lady  of 
my  own  house  : 

"  When  day  was  deid  I  met  my  Dear 

On  fair  Kirkconnel  Lea, 
Tliough  fause  ecu  spied,  I  knew  no  fear, 

His  love  was  over  me. 
He  kissed  me  fu'  upon  the  mou', 

He  looked  me  in  the  ee, 
An'  whispered  low,  '  Nor  life  nor  death 

Shall  part  my  Love  frae  me  !' 

"The  span  o'  Life's  nae  lang  eneugh, 
Nor  deep  eneugh  the  sea, 
Nor  braid  eneugh  this  weary  warld 
To  part  my  Love  frae  me  ! 

"Though  mony  an'  mony  a  day  hath  died 

On  fair  Kirkconnel  Lea 
Sin'  I  stood  by  my  True  Love's  side 

An'  melted  'neath  his  ce. 
Yet  ilka  wind  that  fans  my  cheek 

Kissed  his  in  Germanic, 
An'  bids  me  bide  ;  for  what  shall  make 

To  part  my  Love  frae  me  ? 

"The  span  o'  Life's  nae  lang  eneugh, 
Nor  deep  eneugh  the  sea. 
Nor  braid  eneugh  this  weary  warld 
To  part  my  Love  frae  me  !" 


i! 

'    A 


Do  I  need  to  relate  the  story  of  the  next  day,  or  of  each 
one  which  succeeded  ?  Dear  as  it  is  to  me,  clearly  as 
every  fond  remembrance  stands  out  before  me,  it  might 
but  weary  a  reader  to  whom  I  cannot  possibly  convey 
even  a  conception  of  the  sweet  witchery  of  my  Margaret's 
engagiug  manner.  Mine,  though  I  might  never  possess 
her,  for  1  was  too  sincerely  attached  to  Lady  Jane  to 

16 


'i; 


s 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

think  of  standing  in  the  way  of  her  plans  should  she  fi- 
nally determine  against  me ;  mine  most  of  all,  when  I  saw 
how  eagerly  the  dear  girl  turned  to  me  whenever  I  ap- 
peared. 

The  Vicomte  often  formed  one  of  our  party,  and  it 
was  with  some  distress  that  I  saw  he  was  inclined  to  in- 
terfere with  the  friendship  so  happily  begun.  I  have  a 
natural  inclination  against  giving  pain ;  there  is  already 
80  much  in  this  world  which  we  cannot  prevent,  it  seems 
cruel  to  add  to  it  intentionally,  and  it  was  not  without 
regret  that  I  saw  my  innocent  endeavours  towards  the 
entertainment  of  Margaret  caused  him  grave  uneasiness. 
Still,  as  a  man  of  breeding  he  could  not  admit  that  his 
position  in  her  affections  was  endangered,  and  so  kept  on 
his  way,  though  his  evident  disturbance  told  against  the 
effectiveness  of  his  advances  towards  her,  and  at  times 
rendered  his  attack  on  me  singularly  unskilful.  Exem- 
pli gratid  :  Margaret  was  so  visibly  moved  one  day  by  the 
effect  of  my  singing,  for  I  then  possessed  a  voice  justly 
admired  by  those  best  qualified  to  judge,  that  he  was  in- 
discreet i^^nough  to  remark  on  my  choice  of  a  song,  which 
was  Jacobite  to  an  extreme. 

"  Chevalier,  only  an  artist  could  act  a  part  so 
thoroughly." 

It  was  embarrassing,  but  I  was  saved  all  necessity  of  a 
reply  by  Margaret's  generous  outburst : 

**  Oh,  Gaston,  for  shame  !  You  can  never  understand 
what  it  means  to  have  lost  all  for  your  Prince  !" 
.  A  somewhat  more  forceful  rejoinder  than  I  should 
have  been  able  to  make,  seeing  I  had  so  unguardedly  re- 
vealed my  sentiments  on  this  very  subject  to  him  at  our 
first  meeting.  Therefore  I  at  once  accepted  her  defence 
in  the  same  spirit  as  it  was  given ;  indeed,  I  had  almost 
forgotten  I  had  any  rancour  against  the  unfortunate 
Charles,  so  completely  was  I  dominated  by  her  enthusiasm. 

IG 


'    I. 


it 


I  DISCOVER  A   NEW  INTEREST  IN   LIFE 

"Let  me  sing  you  another/'  I  exclaimed,  ** written 
when  our  hopes  were  still  high." 

**  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  eagerly,  clapping  her  hands. 
"Let  us  forget  it  has  all  passed." 

And  I  sang  r 

"  In  far  Touraine  I'd  watched  each  lagging  day 

Drag  on  to  weary  night, 
I'd  broke  ni}-  heart  when  homing  birds 

Winged  o'er  me  in  their  flight ; 
But  a  Blackbird  came  one  golden  eve 

And  rested  on  the  wing, 
And  these  were  the  heartsorae  words  I  heard 

The  bonnie  Blackbird  sing  : 

'"Go  bid  your  love  bind  in  her  hair 

The  blue  of  Scotland's  Kings, 
Go  bid  her  don  her  bravest  gown 

And  all  her  gauds  and  rings, 
And  bid  her  shine  all  maids  above 

As  she  can  shine  alone ; 
For  the  news  was  whispered  in  the  night, 

And  the  night  hath  told  the  day. 
And  the  cry  hath  gone  across  the  land 

From  Lochaber  to  the  Tay  1 
From  Lochaber  far  beyond  the  Tay 

The  glorious  news  hath  flown — 
So  bid  her  don  her  best  array, 

For  the  King  shall  have  his  own 
Once  more  ! 
The  King  shall  have  his  own  I' 

"Beyond  the  Tweed  I  know  each  bonnie  bird 
That  lilts  the  greenwood  through, 
I  know  each  note  from  the  mavis  sweet 

To  the  crooning  cushie-doo  ; 
But  I  ne'er  bad  heard  a  song  that  gar'd 

My  very  heartstrings  ring 
Till  I  heard  that  eve  in  far  Touraine 
The  bonnie  Blackbird  sing  : 
B  17 


'■     I 


I 


THE    SPAN    0'   LIFE 

"  '  Go  bid  your  love  bind  in  her  hair 

The  blue  of  Scotland's  Kings, 
Go  bid  her  dou  ber  bravest  gown 

And  all  her  gauds  and  rings, 
And  bid  her  shine  all  maids  above, 

As  slie  can  shine  alone  ; — 
For  the  news  was  whispered  in  the  night, 

And  the  night  hath  told  the  day, 
And  the  cry  hath  gone  across  the  land 

From  Lochaber  to  the  Taj"^ ! 
From  Lochal)er  far  beyond  the  Tay 

Tlie  glorious  news  hath  flown — 
So  bid  her  don  hei'  best  array, 

For  the  King  shall  have  his  own 
Once  more  ! 
The  King  shall  have  his  own  !' " 

Lady  Jane  was  in  tears,  and  my  Margaret  was  little 
better,  though  smiling  at  me  from  the  spinet,  while  the 
Vicomte  sat  the  only  composed  one  in  the  room — I  being 
affected,  as  I  always  am  when  I  hear  a  fine  effort,  whether 
by  myself  or  another — when  Mr.  Colvill,  who  was  Lady 
Jane's  man  of  business,  entered  to  us,  and  without  any 
preamble  began  : 

*'  Mr.  Maxwell,  I  have  certain  information  that  your 
lodgings  will  be  searched  to-night,  and  I  have  a  suspicion 
that  you  are  the  person  sought  for." 

My  poor  Margaret  cried  out  and  nearly  swooned  with 
terror,  but  Lady  Jane  was  herself  at  once.  "  Give  over 
your  nonsense,  Peggy,  this  instant !  Hughie  is  not  a 
mewling  baby  to  be  frightened,  with  a  warning  before 
him  !  Colvill,  you  have  acted  with  the  discretion  I 
should  have  expected  in  you,  and  I  thank  you  in  my 
cousin's  name  and  my  own.  Hughie,  do  you  find  out 
some  new  place  at  once  ;  I  marked  a  little  sempstress 
who  has  a  shop  in  Wych  Street  only  the  other  day,  and  I 
w  'u'd  apply  there  if  you  know  of  no  other.  Do  not  go 
acfe  '0  your  old  lodgings  on  any  account.     "When  I  hear 

18 


>'*iSS»Ka»»*«w*^'" 


I  DISCOVER  A  NEW  INTEREST  IN  LIFE 


where  you  are,  I  will  supply  you  with  everything  need- 
ful." 

The  Vicomte  very  obligingly  offered  me  the  shelter  of 
his  roof  for  the  night,  but  I  answered  I  could  not  think 
of  exposing  him,  wlien  on  diplomatic  business,  to  the 
charge  of  sheltering  a  rebel,  and  was  pleased  to  have  so 
handsome  an  excuse  to  cover  my  unwillingness  to  lie 
under  an  obligation  towards  him. 

In  a  moment  the  whole  aspect  of  our  little  party  was 
changed,  and  I  took  my  way  to  seek  for  a  new  shelter, 
leaving  anxious  hearts  behind  me. 

19 


CHAPTER  in 


**THE   DEAD  AND  THE   ABSENT   ARE   ALWAYS   WRONG 


U 


I  MYSELF  was  not  greatly  distnrbcd  over  tlie  turn 
things  had  taken,  for  I  had  begun  to  be  suspicions  of  my 
thrifty  Scot  in  Greek  Street,  and,  as  I  had  left  behind 
me  neither  papers  nor  effects  which  could  compromise 
myself  or  others  when  he  laid  his  dirty  claws  upon  them, 
I  turned  my  back  on  him  without  regret. 

The  hour  was  late  to  enter  upon  a  search  for  new  lodg- 
ings without  arousing  suspicion,  and  this  determined  me 
to  try  the  sempstress  indicated  by  Lady  Jane. 

I  found  the  street  without  difficulty,  and,  what  was 
better,  without  questioning,  and  soon  discovered  the  lit- 
tle shop  with  a  welcome  gleam  of  light  shewing  through 
the  closed  shutters.  The  street  was  empty,  so  I  ad- 
vanced, and,  after  knocking  discreetly,  tried  the  door, 
which,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  open,  and  so  entered. 

In  a  low  chair  behind  the  counter  sate  a  solitary  wom- 
an, sewing  by  the  indifferent  light  of  a  shaded  candle. 
She  looked  at  me  keenly  and  long,  but  without  alarm. 

*' Madam,"  said  I,  closing  the  door  behind  me  and 
slipping  in  the  bolt,  "'  have  no  fear.  My  name  is  Cap- 
tain Geraldine." 

**  That  is  a  lie,"  she  said,  calmly,  raising  her  face  so 
the  full  light  of  the  candle  should  fall  upon  it. 

Great  heavens  !     It  was  that  of  my  wife ! 

I  sank  down  on  a  settle  near  the  wall  and  stared  at 
her,  absolutely  speechless  with  surprise  and  horror,  while 
she  continued  her  sewing  without  a  secoud  look,  though 

20 


Ed 


S 
J 
< 


■n 


u 


ll 


tl( 


iifi'' 


I 


.    I! 

1 

t  "^^ 


"DEAD  AND  ABSENT  ALWAYS  WRONG" 


I  could  mark  her  hands  were  trembling  so  she  could 
hardly  direct  her  needle. 

*'  Good  God  !  Lucy  !  Is  it  really  yon  ?"  I  cried,  scarce 
believing  the  evidence  of  :.iy  senses. 

**  I  am  she  whom  you  name." 

**  And  you  know  me  ?" 

"  I  know  that  you  are  Hugh  Maxwell,"  she  answered, 
in  the  same  steady  voice. 

''  And  you  know  that  I  am  your  husband." 

**  I  have  no  husband.     My  husband  is  dead." 

**  Lucy,  do  not  break  my  heart !  I  am  not  a  scoun- 
drel !  Do  you  think  for  a  moment  I  could  abandon  the 
girl  who  trusted  and  married  me  ?  I  had  the  most  pos- 
itive intelligence  of  your  death.  Lucy,  Lucy,  for  God's 
sake  speak,  and  do  not  torture  me  beyond  endurance. 
Tell  me  what  has  happened." 

But  the  trembling  hands  went  on  with  their  task, 
though  she  neither  raised  her  head  nor  spake.  My  brain 
was  in  a  whirl,  and  I  did  not  know  what  to  think  or  how 
to  act,  so  I  preserved  at  least  an  outward  quiet  for  a 
time,  trying  to  imagine  her  position. 

I  was  but  eighteen  when  I  had  married  her,  a  trades- 
man's daughter,  but  my  uncertain  allowance,  as  well  as 
the  certain  wrath  of  my  family,  prevented  me  acknowl- 
edging her  as  ray  wife,  and  no  one  except  her  mother 
knew  of  our  union. 

As  I  sate  trying  to  find  some  light,  I  heard  the  cry  of  a 
lusty  child :  "  Mother !  Mother !"  At  this  her  face 
contracted  as  with  sudden  pain,  and  saying  only,  '*  Wait 
where  you  are,"  she  left  the  shop. 

I  noticed  she  had  still  the  same  quick,  light  way 
of  moving,  "  like  a  bird,"  I  used  to  tell  her  in  the 
old  days :  it  was  but  the  dull,  ungenerous  colour  and 
shape  of  her  stufi  gown  that  hid  the  dainty  figure  I 
had  known,  and  only  some  different  manner  of  dress- 
ing her  hair  that  prevented  the  old  trick  of  the  little 

31 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


curls  that  would  come  out  about  her  eara  and  fore- 
head. 

While  she  was  away  I  thought  it  all  out,  and  my  heart 
melted  with  pity  for  the  poor  soul,  forced  to  these  years 
of  loneliness,  to  this  daily  strnp^fifle  for  the  support  of 
herself  and  her  child — our  child — and,  more  than  all 
else,  to  the  torturing  thought  that  the  love  which  had 
been  the  sum  of  her  existence  was  false.  AVhat  should  I 
do  ?  Could  I  be  in  doubt  for  a  moment  ?  I  would  make 
up  to  her,  by  the  devotion  of  a  heart  rich  in  feeling,  all 
the  sorrows  of  the  pact. 

Here  she  entered  again,  but  now  collected  and  herself 
as  at  first.  I  rose  and  advanced  to  meet  her,  but  she 
waved  me  off,  and  took  up  her  sewing  again  in  her  former 
position. 

**  Lucy,"  I  said,  standing  over  her,  '*does  not  the  voice 
of  our  child — for  I  cannot  doubt  it  is  our  child — plead 
for  me  ?  Listen  a  moment.  When  I  returned  from  that 
ill-starred  Russian  voyage,  I  flew  at  once  to  join  you. 
You  had  been  in  my  heart  during  all  my  absence,  and 
my  return  home  was  to  be  croAvned  with  your  love.  But, 
to  my  consternation,  I  found  strangers  occupying  the 
old  rooms,  and  the  woman  told  me  with  every  circum- 
stance of  harrowing  detail  the  story  of  your  death  by 
typhus,  and  that  your  mother  followed  you  to  the  grave 
scarce  a  day  later.  Heartbroken  as  I  was,  I  never  sought 
for  further  confirmation  than  the  nameless  graves  she 
pointed  out  to  me  by  your  parish  church.  She  told  me, 
too,  your  effects  were  burned  by  order  of  the  overseers, 
and  I  took  it  for  granted  she  had  stolen  anything  of  value 
•that  might  have  been  left.  W^hen  I  found  at  my  bank- 
er's that  a  lieutenancy  in  Berwick's  was  awaiting  my  ap- 
plication, I  only  too  eagerly  seized  the  opportunity  of 
escaping  from  a  country  where  I  should  be  constantly 
reminded  of  my  ruined  past,  and  since  that  day  I  have 
never  set  foot  in  London  till  the  present.     Oh,  Lucy  I 

23 


DEAD  AND  ABSENT  ALWAYS  WUONG" 


Lucy  !  I  see  it  all  now.  The  birth  of  our  child  was 
approaching.  You,  poor  soul,  were  an  unacknowledged 
wife;  I  was  wandering,  a  shipwrecked  stranger  beyond 
all  means  of  communication,  and  you  fled  from  the  fin- 
ger of  shame  that  cruel  hands  would  have  pointed  at  you. 
Why  that  hag  should  have  gone  to  such  lengths  to  de- 
ceive me  I  cannot  even  guess.  But  now,  my  dear  love, 
my  dearest  wife,  it  is  at  an  end  I  I  have  a  position — at 
least  I  am  a  captain,  with  fair  chance  of  promotion — I 
no  longer  have  a  family  to  consider,  and  once  I  get  out 
of  this  present  trap  I  will  acknowledge  you  before  the 
whole  world,  and  we  will  wipe  out  the  cruel  past  as  if  it 
had  never  existed." 

"  I  have  no  past,"  she  said,  quietly. 

**  Then,  Lucy  darling,  as  truly  as  I  am  your  husband 
I  will  make  you  a  future." 

"  I  have  no  husband,"  she  answered,  in  the  same  quiet 
tone  :  "  my  husband  died  the  day  my  boy  was  born." 

*'  But,  Lucy,  my  vife,  you  have  love  ?" 

*'  Not  such  love  as  you  mean.  My  love,  such  as  it  is 
here,  is  for  my  boy.     All  else  is  for  something  boyond." 

*'  But,  Lucy,  have  you  nothing  left  for  mc  ?  Surely 
you  do  not  doubt  my  word  ?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  slowly.  ''You  have  never  de- 
ceived me  that  I  know  of.  Until  to-night  I  believed  you 
had  left  me,  but  I  know  now,  it  is  I  who  have  left  you. 
There  never  can  be  anything  between  us." 

"  Why,  Lucy  ?  Tell  me  why  !  Do  not  sit  there  hold- 
ing yourself  as  if  you  were  apart  from  me  and  mine." 

"'  You  have  just  said  the  very  words  which  explain  it 
all,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  indeed  *  apart  from  you  and 
yours.'  \''our  explanation  now  makes  clear  why  you  did 
not  seek  me  out  on  your  return,  and  I  accept  it  fully. 
But  think  you  for  a  moment  that  this  wipes  out  all  I 
have  suffered  through  these  years  ?  Can  you  explain 
away,  by  any  other  statement,  save  that  I  was  'apart  from 

28 


fr 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

you  and  yours/  the  cruel  wrong  yon  did  when  yon  left 
me,  a  helpless  girl  without  experience,  in  a  position 
where  I  was  utterly  defenceless  against  evil  tongues  in 
the  hour  of  my  trial ;  so  that  what  should  have  been  my 
glory  was  turned  into  a  load  of  disgrace  which  crushed 
me  and  killed  my  mother  ?  To  say  you  intended  to  re- 
turn is  no  answer,  no  defence.  You  knew  all  about  a 
world  of  which  I  was  ignorant,  and  you  should  have 
shielded  me  by  your  knowledge. 

"  Do  not  think  I  am  unhuman,  I  am  simply  unfeeling 
on  the  side  to  which  you  would  appeal.  I  have  lived 
too  long  alone,  I  have  suffered  too  much  alone,  to  look 
to  any  human  creature  for  such  help  or  such  comfort  as 
you  would  bring.  I  know  you  were  honest,  I  know  you 
were  loving  and  tender,  but  that  has  all  passed  for  me. 
You  do  not  come  into  my  life  at  any  point ;  I  can  look 
on  you  without  a  throb  of  my  heart  either  in  love  or  in 
hate—" 

.  "  But,  Lucy,  I  am  not  changed.     I  am  the  same  Hugh 
Maxwell  you  knew." 

*'  You  are  Hugh  Maxwell — but  there  is  no  question  of 
likeness,  of  'being  the  same,'  for  there  is  no  Lucy.  She 
is  as  really  dead  to  you  to-day  as  you  thought  when  you 
mourned  her  six  years  ago.  The  'Mistress  Routh'  who 
spenks  now  is  a  widow,  by  God's  grace  a  member  of  the 
oocieiy  ot  Methodists,  and  you  need  never  seek  through 
her  to  find  any  trace  of  the  girl  you  knew.  She  is  dead, 
dead,  dead,  and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  her  soul  1" 

It  was  like  standing  before  a  closed  grave. 

Against  this  all  my  prayers,  my  tears,  my  entreaties, 
availed  nothing,  until  at  last  I  ceased  in  very  despair  at 
the  firmness  of  this  unmovable  woman,  whom  I  had  left 
a  pretty,  wilful,  changeable  girl  a  few  years  before. 

The  candle  had  long  since  burned  itself  out,  and  the 
gray  of  the  morning  was  beginning  to  struggle  in  at  every 
opening  when  1  gave  up  the  contest. 

24 


"DEAD    AND    ABSENT    ALWAYS    WR^^NG" 


"Mistress  Ronth,"  said  I,  smiling  at  the  odd  address, 
"I  have  been  overlong  in  coming  to  my  business.  I  am 
a  proscribed  rebel  witli  a  price  set  on  my  head,  and  I  seek 
a  new  lodging,  my  old  one  being  unsafe.  I  was  directed 
here  almost  by  chance.  Can  yoii  give  me  such  room  as 
you  can  spare  ?  There  is  but  little  or  no  danger  in  har- 
bouring me,  for  I  am  reported  to  be  in  Scotland  with  the 
Prince,  '  the  Young  Pretender,'  if  you  like  it  so.  I  will 
be  as  circumspect  in  my  movements  as  possible.  Above 
all,  I  will  never  shew  by  word  or  sign  that  I  knew  you 
before,  even  when  we  are  alone,  nor  will  I  betray  your 
secret  to  our  boy.  You  are  free  to  refuse  me,  and  should 
you  do  so,  I  will  seek  shelter  elsewhere;  but  whether  I 
go  or  stay,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman 
that  your  secret  rests  wiiere  it  lies  in  my  heart  until  such 
time  as  you  see  fit  to  proclaim  it  yourself.  Will  you, 
then,  consent  to  let  me  have  a  room  under  your  roof  un- 
til such  time  as  I  can  get  over  to  France  ?" 

After  a  little  she  said :  *'  Yes  ;  I  can  take  your  word. 
But  remember,  from  this  night  you  are  a  stranger  to  me. 
You  will  pay  as  a  stranger,  and  come  and  go  as  a  stran- 
ger," 

And  so  this  unnatural  treaty  was  ratified.  My  hostess 
made  such  preparation  for  my  comfort  as  I  vrould  allow, 
and  when  alone  I  sate  on  my  couch  trying  to  put  my 
thoughts  in  order. 

It  was  only  then  that  Margaret  came  back  to  nie.  Dur- 
ing my  long  struggle  with  my  poor  wife  no  thought  of 
another  had  entered  my  mind,  my  whole  endeavour  being 
directed  towards  making  such  amends  for  the  cruelties 
of  an  undeserved  fate  as  were  possible  ;  but  now,  when 
alone,  the  realisation  of  what  it  meant  in  my  relation 
towards  Margaret  overwhelmed  me.  All  unwittingly  I 
had  been  playing  the  part  of  a  low  scoundrel  towards  the 
fairest,  purest  soul  in  the  whole  world  ;  I  had  been  liv- 
ing in  a  Fool's  Paradise,  drinking  the  sweetest  draught 

96 


H 


^ , 


i 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

that  ever  intoxicated  a  human  soul,  and  now,  with- 
out an  instant's  warning,  the  cup  was  dashed  from  my 
lips. 

Poor  Margaret !    Poor  Lucy !    Poor  Hugh  !    My  heart 
was  aching  for  them  all. 

26 


' 


CHAPTER  IV 


IN   WHICH   I   MAKE   ACQUAINTANCE  WITH   ONE   NEAR 

TO   ME 

I  STRETCHED  myself  out  at  length,  with  my  cloak  over 
me,  and  dozed  uneasily  until  awakened  by  a  soft  knock- 
ing at  the  door,  which  was  slowly  pushed  open,  and  a 
brown  head  made  its  appearance  in  the  room. 

*'  Come  in  !"  I  cried,  and  there  entered  to  me  as  hand- 
some a  boy  of  six  as  ever  delighted  a  man's  eyes. 

I  would  have  given  the  world  to  take  him  to  my  heart, 
but  I  was  on  parole.  So  we  stared  at  each  other,  and  I 
can  only  hope  he  was  as  well  satisfied  with  his  inspection 
us  I  was  with  mine. 

**Does  your  mother  know  of  your  coming  ?"  I  asked, 
for  I  was  determined  to  take  no  unfair  advantage. 

*'  She  told  me  I  could  come,"  he  answered,  without 
any  backwardness,  yet  with  modesty. 

"  Good.    Well,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Why  do  you  sleep  in  your  clothes  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  soldier  often  sleeps  in  his  clothes." 

"But  I  don't  think  you're  a  soldier." 

"Why?" 

*' Where  is  your  sword  ?" 

"I'll  get  that  by-and-by." 

"If  I  was  a  soldier  I'd  sleep  with  my  sword." 

"  Well,  you'd  find  it  a  mighty  uncomfortable  bedfel- 
low," I  answered,  laughing.  At  which  he  laughed  too, 
and  we  were  fast  becoming  friends. 

"  Will  you  be  a  soldier  ?"  I  went  on. 

27 


•H' 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

**  I  don't  know.     What's  your  name  ?" 

"  One  moment,  my  young  diplomat.  Do  you  never 
answer  a  question  but  by  asking  another  ?  Surely  you're 
not  a  Scotchman  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  you  are  ?" 

"I  think  I'm  a  Methodist." 

"  So  you  are.  But  that  may  be  much  the  same  thing, 
for  aught  1  know.  My  name's  Captain  Geraldlne.  Kow 
tell  me  yours." 

**  Christopher.     Can  you  sing  ?" 

"1  can  sing,  my  boy,  like  a  mavis,  like  a  bird-of-para- 
dise.  Would  you  like  to  taste  my  quality  ?"  and  with- 
out more  ado  1  sang  to  him. 

"Tlie  ppiin  o'  Life's  nac  lang  cneugh, 
iN^)r  dorp  ftictigh  the  sea, 
Nor  br.'iid  enough  this  vreary  warld 
To  part  my  Love  frae  me." 

"I  like  that,"  he  said,  gravely,  when  I  had  made  an 
end.     '^  You  sing  well." 

"So  I  have  been  informed,  sir;  and  I  am  most  sensi- 
ble of  your  confirnuition  of  the  favourable  verdict,  which 
is  flattering  beyond  my  poor  deserts." 

But  he  did  not  find  this  at  all  to  his  taste,  and  I  was 
sorry  to  see  my  untimely  nons  •i-'^e  caused  him  to  shrink 
somewhat  from  me,  which  hurt  me  to  a  degree  I  could 
not  have  believed  possible. 

But  my  embarrassment  was  relieved  by  his  mother's 
voice  calling  us  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  hand  in 
hand  we  went  down  together. 

1  looked  at  my  hostess  with  much  curiosity,  and  found 
her  quiet  and  serene,  though  the  traces  of  the  anxiety 
of  overnight  were  visible  in  her  pale  face  and  tired 
eyes. 

"Good-morning,  Mistress-- Kouth." 

28 


x 

s 

C 


o 
u 

» 

p 
o 

>" 


i 

fl 

3 


*  i 


•I 


i') 


'.  I 


':  ? 


AN    ACQUAINTANCE    NEAR   TO    ME 

"  Good  -  morning,  Captain  Geralcline.  I  see  my  boy 
has  taken  to  you  ;  it  is  a  g^ood  sign," 

The  words  were  like  balm  to  me,  and  I  looked  at  her 
searchingly  to  see  expected  signs  of  relenting,  but  I  rec- 
ognised only  too  clearly  it  was  the  kindly  civility  of  an 
entire  stranger,  and  I  felt  more  strongly  than  at  any  mo- 
ment before  that  the  door  of  the  past  was  irrevocably 
closed  between  us. 

I  sate  down  at  the  table,  but  she  remained  standing, 
and  folding  her  hands,  repeated  a  long  grace.  It  was  so 
utterly  strange,  so  utterly  foreign  to  all  I  had  ever  known 
of  her,  that  it  deepened  the  impression  tenfold  that  I 
belonged  to  a  world  apart  from  hers.  In  a  sense  it 
shocked  my  feeling  of  what  was  proper.  Her  Protes- 
tantism had  never  been  any  barrier  in  our  life  together, 
for  I  have  known  too  many  different  ways  to  happiness 
not  to  believe  there  may  be  more  than  one  to  heaven. 
I  have  known  too  many  devout  Protestants  to  have  a 
shadow  of  doubt  as  to  their  sincerity ;  but  I  have  always 
been  a  believer  in  the  established  order  of  things,  and  for 
a  woman  to  take  any  part  in  matters  religious,  beyond 
teaching  her  children  their  hymns  and  prayers,  was  for- 
eign to  my  experience. 

We  ate  our  breakfast  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
boy's  chatter,  and  if  there  were  any  embarrassment,  I  am 
free  to  confess  it  was  on  my  side  alone.  I  could  perfect- 
ly understand  her  courage  and  resolution  of  the  night 
before,  but  this  wonderful  acting  was  simply  marvellous  ; 
it  was,  as  far  as  I  knew,  no  more  possible  to  the  Lucy  I 
had  known  than  talking  Castilian  ;  but,  upon  my  soul, 
I  never  admired  her  more  in  my  life.  This,  however,  I 
took  good  care  not  to  shew  in  word  or  gesture  :  if  she 
had  so  utterly  renounced  all  vanities  and  pomps,  why 
should  she  have  the  incense  of  admiration  ?  She  would 
probably  consider  it  an  offering  to  idols. 

"  Mistress  Routh,  if  my  presence  will  not  discommode 

29 


:1 


ill 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


if. 


1'  ■ 


I;  • 


I 


^1 

) 


yon,  I  purpose  to  lie  quiet  for  a  day  or  two,  until  I  can 
get  such  clothes  as  may  serve  both  as  a  change  of  char- 
acter and  a  more  fitting  appearance  for  myself.  Do  you 
happen  to  know  of  so  rare  a  bird  as  a  periwig-maker  who 
can  keep  his  counsel  ?  If  I  could  have  such  an  one 
attend  me  here,  I  could  at  least  do  away  with  this  lanky 
hair  and  fit  myself  to  a  decent  wig  ;  then  I  could  venture 
out  under  cover  of  a  cloak,  and  find  a  tailor  to  complete 
the  transformation.  But  I  take  it  }ou  may  know  but 
little  of  these  manlike  fripperies." 

*'  I  do  know  a  man  who  may  be  trusted,  who,  though 
a  member  of  our  Society,  is  forced  to  gain  .his  living  by 
like  vanities,"  she  returned. 

*'  Madam,"  said  I,  **you  evidently  do  not  estimate  the 
quality  of  vanity  at  its  proper  value.  Now  I  hold  it  in 
reality  to  be  the  eighth  of  the  Cardinal  Virtues.  I  have 
known  it  to  keep  men  from  being  slovenly  through  their 
regard  for  the  outward  respect  of  others,  and  cleanliness 
comes  very  near  to  godliness.  I  have  known  it  to  keep 
men  out  of  low  company  through  their  desire  to  catch  a 
reflected  glory  from  their  superiors,  and  company  is  an 
informant  of  character.  I  have  even  known  it  to  make 
men  open-handed  through  a  dislike  to  appear  niggardly 
in  public,  and — "  But  I  saw  a  look  of  such  evident  dis- 
tress on  the  face  before  me  that  I  checked  my  flight  in 
very  pity.  A  man  with  any  sensibility  will  find  himself 
constantly  curbed  by  his  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
others. 

When  Mistress  Routh's  assistant  appeared  I  took  the 
opportunity  of  sending  a  note  to  Lady  Jane,  telling  of 
my  whereabouts,  and  that  I  would  present  myself  in  a 
day  or  two  when  I  had  effected  sufficient  change  in  my 
appearance. 

This  I  was  enabled  to  do  by  the  help  of  the  wig-maker 
— who  was  clever  enough  with  what  he  put  outside  other 
men's  heads,  though  I  could  not  think  so  highly  of  what 

30 


^4•9^APAabl^M^  f 


AN    ACQUAINTANCE    NEAR    TO    ME 

he  had  got  into  his  own — and  by  a  liberal  supply  of  gold 
pieces  to  my  tailor. 

I  was  now  dressed  with  some  approach  to  my  ideas 
of  what  was  fitting,  and  my  own  satisfaction  was  only 
equalled  by  that  of  little  Christopher. 

"Ah,  Kit,  my  boy,"  I  admonished  him,  for  I  felt  it 
incumbent  on  me  to  contribute  somewhat  to  the  general 
morality  of  such  a  household,  ''I  am  no  more  Captain 
Geraldine  in  these  fine  feathers  than  I  was  in  the  scurvy 
black  of  the  lawyer's  clerk." 

"But  you  feel  more  like  Captain  Geraldine,"  the  boy 
said,  pertinently  enough. 

"I  do,  my  boy,  I  do,  for  I  am  still  subject  to  the 
vanities  of  the  flesh." 

"Don't  say  that !"  the  boy  cried,  half  angrily — "that 
is  like  they  talk  at  meeting,"  and  I  felt  ashamed  I  should 
have  let  slip  anything  before  the  child  that  could  hurt 
his  sense  of  my  bearing  towards  what  his  mother  re- 
spected, though  I  was  puzzled  to  rightly  estimate  his 
own  expression. 

"  I  won't,  my  lad,  but  listen  !"  and  I  gave  my  sword 
a  flourish  and  began  the  rattling  air, 

"  Daus  les  gardes  fraugaises 
J'avais  un  amourcux — " 

and  then  I  suddenly  reflected  I  had  no  right  to  sing  these 
ribald  songs  before  the  boy,  even  though  he  might  not 
understand  a  word,  and  again  I  was  ashamed,  so  fell 
a-story-telling,  and  I  told  him  tales  that  made  even  his 
favourites  of  Agag  and  Sisera  seem  pale,  and  the  singing 
was  forgotten. 

Though  these  constant  talks  with  Kit,  who  would 
scarce  be  kept  a  moment  from  my  side,  were  entertain- 
ing enough,  and  my  heart  wariued  mure  and  more  to  him 
as  I  saw  his  strong  young  feeling  blossom  out,  I  could 
not  help  the   time   dragging  most  wearisomely.     The 

81 


'i 


tU 


t'v     ^1 


i 


\ , 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

evenings  were  intolerable,  and  I  felt  the  atmosphere  ab- 
solutely snffocating  at  times.  Mistress  Routli  was  so 
completely  ^listress  Kouth  I  soon  realised  that  the  Lucy 
in  her  was  of  a  truth  not  only  dead,  but  buried  out  of 
my  sight  forever.  Now  if  I  have  a  failing,  it  is  of  too 
keen  an  enjoyment  of  the  present,  rather  than  an  indul- 
gence in  unavailing  regrets  for  the  past,  so  that  in  a 
little  I  began  to  speculate  if  the  Tlugh  Maxwell  who 
was  the  Hugh  Maxwell  of  this  buried  Lucy  had  not  van- 
ished also.  Certaiuly  I  was  not  the  Hugh  Maxwell  she 
knew.  She  said  so  herself  ;  she  showed  only  too  plainly 
I  had  neither  plot  nor  lot  in  her  present  life  ;  and,  after 
all,  the  life  that  is  lived  is  the  life  that  is  dead.  So  I 
accepted  what  I  had  done  my  best  to  refuse,  and  turned 
again  to  the  only  life  that  was  open  before  me — I  went 
to  Lady  Jane's  that  very  evening. 

S2 


I 


I    i 


I 


CHAPTER  V 


I   ASSIST   AT   AX    INTERVIEW   WITH   A    GREAT    MAN 


n 


I  FOUND  the  liousehold  in  Essex  Street  in  a  state  of 
perturbation  which  was  soon  explained.  News  had  come 
that  Margaret's  brother  Archibald  had  been  arrested,  as 
Lady  Jane  had  foreseen,  and  was  now  confined  in  Fort 
William.  Margaret,  though  distressed  greatly,  was  such 
an  ardent  Jacobite  that  I  verily  believe  she  would  rather 
have  seen  her  brother  in  some  danger  of  losing  his  head 
than  have  had  him  out  of  the  business  altogether. 

She  was  neither  so  distressed  nor  elated,  however,  that 
she  was  oblivious  to  my  altered  appearance,  and  I  could 
see  Lady  Jane  herself  was  well  pleased  that  her  llughie 
should  cut  somewhat  of  a  figure  in  the  eyes  of  her  pro- 
tegee.   She  hud  a  natural  desire  to  justify  her  affections. 

But  I  simply  mark  this  in  passing ;  the  real  business 
in  hand  was  to  devise  some  means  for  young  Nairn's 
safety.  This  was  the  less  serious  inasmuch  as  he  cer- 
tainly had  never  been  in  arms  for  the  Prince,  and  had 
been  prudent  enough  to  destroy  all  evidence  of  his  secret 
mission— in  fact,  his  letter  informed  us  that  the  one 
man  capable  of  giving  evidence  against  him  was  with- 
held by  circumstances  so  disgraceful  to  himself  there 
was  no  danger  of  any  direct  testimony  on  tliis  point. 

The  position  could  not  be  more  favourable,  and  it  was 
only  a  question  of  the  most  judicious  plan  of  succour. 

The  Vicomte,  though  desirous  of  alleviating  Mar- 
garet's anxiety,  was  debarred  by  his  position  from  tak- 
ing any  active  part,  a  circumstance  of  which  I  was  not 
c  88 


U 


r 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

backward  in  taking  advantage ;  for  though  the  late  dis- 
tressing revehition — 1  refer  to  my  meeting  with  Mistress 
llouth — prevented  my  making  any  personal  advances 
towards  Margaret,  common  humanity  prompted  mo  to 
my  utmost  efforts  for  her  relief. 

Finally  it  was  determined  that  Lady  Jane  should  ob- 
tain a  private  interview  with  the  Duke  of  Newcastle, 
and,  accompanied  by  Margaret,  make  a  personal  appeal, 
which,  from  Lady  Jane's  connections,  we  flattered  our- 
selves had  some  hopes  of  success. 

**  Cousin,"  I  said,  "  I  have  a  proposal.  Let  me  go 
with  you.  I  am  quite  unknown,  my  accent  at  least  is 
not  that  of  a  Scotchman,  so  I  shall  not  in  a-ny  way  im- 
peril your  success,  and  I  have  had  some  small  experience 
with  my  superiors  which  may  not  be  without  its  use." 

"  Well,  Hughie,  I  may  not  have  the  same  admiration 
as  yourself  for  your  accent,  but  I  have  the  firmest  belief 
in  your  confidence  :  that  will  not  betray  you  in  any  strait. 
And  I  am  as  firm  a  believer  in  having  a  man  about ;  they 
are  bothersome  creatures  often,  but  Jiave  their  uses  at 
times.  At  all  events,  I  feel  safer  in  their  company  ;  they 
bring  out  the  best  in  me.  Yes,  on  the  whole,  I  think 
you  hud  better  come." 

The  following  week,  through  the  services  of  the  Vi- 
comte,  we  were  enabled  to  arrange  for  a  meeting  with 
the  Duke  at  his  house,  and  accordingly  one  morning  we 
took  our  way  by  coach  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields. 

We  were  ushered  into  his  presence  with  marvellously 
little  ceremony,  and  found  him  seated  at  a  desk  covered 
with  a  litter  of  papers  before  a  blazing  fire,  for  it  was 
early  in  January. 

He  did  not  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  the  announce- 
ment of  our  names,  beyond  raising  his  head  and  saying 
rapidly,  without  even  returning  our  salutation,  '*  Yes, 
yes,  yes  ;  be  seated,  be  seated,"  with  such  a  hurried, 
stuttering  stammer  that  I  felt  reassured  at  once,  though 

84 


'I 


INTERVIEW    WITH    A    GREAT    MAN 


I  could  sec  both  my  companions  were  somewhat  over- 
awed now  they  were  in  the  presence  of  tiio  Great  Man. 

As  lie  kept  sluifflinj:^  over  his  p:i})crs,  now  reading  a 
few  words  from  one,  then  throwing  it  down,  and  mixing 
a  dozen  others  up  in  hopeless  confusion,  now  writing  a 
bit,  and  then  frowning  and  waving  his  pen,  I  felt  still 
more  assured,  for  it  all  went  to  show  he  was  only  an  or- 
dinary human  creature  under  all  his  titles  and  dignities, 
and  was  no  more  free  from  little  affectations  than  any 
other  mortal  might  be. 

At  length  he  ceased  his  pretence  of  work,  for  it  was 
nothing  else,  and  took  notice  of  us. 

''Ladies,  I  ask  your  pardon— your  pardon.  Yes,  yes, 
let  me  see,  yon  have  some  appointment  with  me.  Eh, 
what  was  it  again  ?  Oh,  I  remember,  you  are  Lady  En- 
derby.     Yes,  yes — " 

*'N"o,  your  Grace  ;  I  am  Lady  Jane  Pimmmond  ;  this 
is  my  ward,  Miss  Margaret  Nairn,  and  this  my  cousin, 
Captain  Geraldine ;  our  business  is  to  implore  your 
Grace's  assistance  towards  the  rolease  of  her  brother, 
Captain  Nairn,  arrested  in  erro  and  now  confined  in 
Fort  William." 

*'  Awkward,  eh  ?  Mistakes  like  that  might  be  very 
awkward — very  awkward  indeed.  No  doubt  he  is  one  of 
these  pestilent  rebels — eh  ?" 

''Indeed,  your  Grace,  he  has  never  drawn  sword  in 
the  matter  at  all  ;  and  what  is  more,  he  is  an  officer  in 
the  French  service,  holding  his  full  commission  therein." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  doubt  he  is  the  most  innocent  creature 
in  the  world !  but  will  you  explain,  madam,  what  he  was 
doing  in  Scotland  just  when  the  rebels  hujDpened  to  be  in 
full  swing — eh  ?" 

"  Indeed,  your  Grace,  he  never  put  foot  in  Scotland 
until  this  unhappy  business  was  ended  at  CuUoden." 

"  That's  a  pity,  now,  a  great  pity.  As  the  vulgar  say, 
he  came  'just  a  day  too  late  for  the  fair.'    Had  he  only 

35 


IV 


,*  !  ! 


U' 


45 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

come  in  time,  his  Majesty  might  have  had  one  rebel  less 
to  deal  with,  and — " 

But  he  was  cut  short  by  poor  Margaret,  who,  unable 
to  stand  the  torture  any  longer,  wailed  out :  "  Oh,  your 
Grace,  do  not  say  that !  My  father  was  buried  only  a 
few  months  before  my  brother  was  arrested,  and  he  is 
the  only  one  near  to  me  now  left." 

Even  the  abominable  flippancy  of  the  man  before  ns 
was  arrested  by  the  sight  of  the  anguish  of  this  dear  soul, 
and  with  some  approach  to  sensibility  he  said  : 

"  There,  there,  my  dear !  We  cannot  mend  matters 
now."  And  for  some  minutes  he  heard  and  questioned 
Lady  Jane  with  some  shew  of  decency,  but  evidently 
with  an  effort,  for  it  was  not  long  before  he  broke  out 
again  :  "  How  much  simpler  it  would  all  be  if  you  did 
not  interfere,  madam  !" 

This  angered  her  beyond  control,  nd  she  replied  : 
**  Your  Grace  may  have  no  feeling  for  the  sorrow  that 
breaks  the  hearts  of  others,  but  this  is  only  a  case  for 
common  justice." 

"You,  you,  you  have  a  keen  sense  of  justice,  madam," 
he  stammered,  much  nettled.  **  You  are  not  wanting 
in  courage,  either  ;  'tis  a  pity  you  could  not  have  turned 
your  talents  to  some  account." 

Poor  Margaret,  seeing  the  turn  things  were  taking, 
now  advanced,  and  throwing  herself  at  his  feet,  poured 
forth  her  heart  to  him  in  entreaties  with  the  tears  run- 
ning down  her  lovely  face.  At  first  he  seemed  much 
moved,  and  shifted  himself  in  his  chair  most  uncomfort- 
ably, fairly  squirming  like  a  worm  on  a  pin  ;  but,  to  my 
disappointment,  I  soon  saw  he  was  coming  back  to  his 
usual  humour,  even  as  she  was  entreating — '*  Oh,  your 
Grace,  your  Grace,  he  is  all  I  have  left  in  the  world  !  I 
have  been  a  motherless  girl  since  I  can  remember  ;  1 
have  been  away  from  my  father,  at  school  for  years  ;  and 
my  brother  whom  I  played  with,  the  one  person  whom  I 

36 


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have  pn 

of  his  lif 

For  ar 

me,  "W 

"  Gera 

*'0h! 

"No, 

swered. 

"He! 

farther  t] 

that  som( 

your  nam 

"  Nair] 

sobbing, 

%  gorge 

"  Nairr 

days  for  i 

Then  si 

you  had  1 

he  went  c 

a  self-satii 

never  won 

man  of  sei 

"I  shoi 

side  herse 

"  Quite 

of  perspicj 

Then  he  t 

"  And  p 

"  Your 

these  ladie 

case  befon 

Kingdoms, 

but  to  exf 

they  are  sa 

ready  to  lis 


k 


INTERVIEW   WITH    A    GREAT    MAN 


have  prayed  for  more  than  all  others,  is  now  in  danger 
of  his  life  " — and  she  ended  in  a  burst  of  sobs. 

For  answer  he  merely  yawned,  and  said,  turning  to 
me,  **  What  did  you  say  your  name  was — eh  ?" 

**  Geraldine,  your  Grace." 

"  Oh!     No  particular  family,  I  suppose  ?" 

**  No,  your  Grace,  of  no  family  in  particular,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"He  !  he  !  he  !"  cackled  his  Grace.  "Oh,  I  can  see 
farther  than  I  get  credit  for  I  You,  you,  you'll  remedy 
that  some  day — eh  ?  Miss —  Miss —  What  did  you  say 
your  name  was  ?" 

"  Nairn,  your  Grace,"  answered  poor  Margaret,  still 
sobbing,  while  Lady  Jane  stood  glowering  behind  her. 
My  gorge  rose  at  his  heartlessness. 

"  Nairn.  Umph  I  That's  an  evil-smelling  name  these 
days  for  any  such  petition,"  he  grumbled. 

Then  suddenly  turning  to  face  me,  "  Now  I  suppose 
you  had  nothing  to  do  with  this  barelegged  rebellion  ?" 
he  went  on,  to  my  dismay,  but  answered  it  himself  with 
a  self-satisfied  chuckle  :  "  But  no,  of  course  not.  You 
never  would  have  come  here  if  you  had.  No,  no  1  No 
man  of  sense  would." 

**  I  should  think  not !"  snorted  Lady  Jane,  fairly  be- 
side herself. 

"  Quite  right,  madam,  quite  right.  You  are  a  woman 
of  perspicacity,"  answered  his  lordship,  without  a  ruffle. 
Then  he  turned  to  me  again  : 

"And  pray  what  did  bring  you  here,  sir  ?" 

"  Your  Grace,  it  was  at  my  earnest  recommendation 
these  ladies  were  moved  to  appear  in  person  to  lay  their 
case  before  the  most  powerful  nobleman  in  the  Three 
Kingdoms.  They  come  here,  your  Grace,  not  to  plead, 
but  to  explain.  Their  explanation  is  now  made,  and 
they  are  satisfied  it  is  in  the  liands  of  one  who  is  ever 
ready  to  listen  to  the  suit  of  innocence,  whose  whole  life 

87 


(  'I 


i 


I 
1^ 


if 


I  I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

is  a  guarantee  for  the  exercise  of  justice,  and  whose  finger 
need  but  be  lifted  to  relieve  the  unfortunate  from  un- 
merited disgrace." 

To  my  surprise,  ho  did  not  seem  so  taken  with  my 
effort  as  I  had  hoped.  Even  as  I  was  speaking  he  had 
thrown  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  sate  resting  his  el- 
bows on  the  arms,  staring  at  me  over  his  finger-tips  in 
the  most  disconcerting  fashion  without  moving  a  muscle 
of  his  face.  I  was  positively  afraid  to  venture  a  word 
more  under  the  spell  of  that  equivocal  gaze. 

"Yes,  yes,  yes,"  he  broke  out,  suddenly,  drawing  him- 
self close  up  to  his  desk  and  seizing  a  pen,  with  which 
be  began  making  slow  notes  on  the  paper  before  him. 

'*  What  did  you  say  the  young  man's  name  was  ?"  ho 
muttered.  *'  Oh,  yes,  Nairn — Archibald  Nairn.  Yes. 
Fort  William  —  eh  ?  French  officer  in  active  service. 
And  you  can  give  me  your  word  he  was  not  in  arms — 
eh  ?" 

"I  can,  your  Grace,  without  hesitation." 

The  moment  I  had  spoken  I  saw  my  mistake.  So  did 
his  Grace,  who  wheeled  round  on  me  like  a  flash. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  take  it  you  are  in  a  position  to  know  !" 

My  blood  fairly  ran  cold,  for  I  saw  only  too  clearly  his 
folly  of  manner  was  but  a  cloak,  and  that  now  it  was 
quite  as  much  a  question  of  myself  as  of  Nairn. 

"  I  am,  your  Grace,"  I  answered,  in  my  most  assured 
tones. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  able  to  produce  a  muster-roll  of  the 
rebel  forces— eh,  Captain  Fitzgerald  ?  That  would  be 
highly  satisfactory  in  more  ways  than  one." 

"  Surely,  your  Grace,  this  is  no  laughing  matter.  Your 
Grace  has  my  word  of  honour  that  Captain  Nairn  was  not 
in  Scotland  until  after  Culloden  was  fought — " 

" — And  lost — Captain  Fitzgerald?  Surely  that  is  not 
the  way  for  a  loyal  subject  to  put  it." 

"  I  cannot  cross  swords  with  your  Grace,"  I  returned, 

38 


INTERVIEW    WITH    A    GREAT    MAN 

with  a  low  bow  to  cover  my  trepidation  ;  ''  even  if  our 
positions  did  not  make  it  an  impossibility,  it  would  be 
too  unequal  a  contest." 

The  flattery  was  gross,  and  only  my  apprehensions 
could  excuse  its  clumsiness,  but  to  my  intense  relief  it 
availed,  and  he  turned  to  his  desk  igain,  while  I  held 
my  breath  expectant  of  his  next  attack.  But  none  came. 
Tie  muttered  and  mumbled  to  liimself,  while  we  stood 
stock-still,  scarce  venturing  to  look  at  each  other,  for 
the  fate  of  Nairn  was  hanging  in  the  balance,  and  a 
straw  might  turn  it  either  way.  At  length  he  picked  up 
his  pen  and  wrote  rapidly  for  a  few  moments  ;  then  care- 
fully sanding  the  paper  he  read  it  over  slowly,  still  mut- 
tering and  shaking  his  head  ;  but  at  last,  turning  to  Mar- 
garet, who  all  this  time  had  remained  on  her  knees,  he 
handed  it  to  her,  saying : 

**  There,  miss  ;  take  it,  take  it.  Get  married  ;  get 
your  brother  married  ;  but  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  bring 
up  any  little  rebels  1  And  Captain  Fitzgerald,"  he  add- 
ed, meaningly,  '^  don't  imagine  I  can't  see  as  far  as  other 
men!  No  thanks  I  No!  I  hate  thanks,  and  tears — 
and — and —  Good -morning,  ladies,  good -morning  !" 
whereupon  he  rose  and  shuffled  over  in  front  of  the  fire, 
where  he  stood  rubbing  his  hands,  leaving  us  to  bow  our- 
selves out  to  a  full  view  of  his  back,  which,  upon  my 
soul,  was  a  fairer  landscape  than  his  face — but  with  Mar- 
garet holding  fast  the  order  for  her  brother's  release. 

39 


I 


n 


i 


I  * 


I 


CHAPTER  VI 

HOW   T   TAKE    TO    THE    ROAD    AGAIX,    AND   OF  THE    COM- 
PANY  I   FALL  IN   WITH 


F 


>, 


kfi!. 


i  'i 


It 

I 


I  FULLY  expected  an  outburst  from  Lady  Jane  the  mo- 
ment wo  were  in  the  coach,  but  all  she  said  was : 

"  Such  a  man!  I  liave  known  women  silly  and  vain;  I 
have  known  women  cruel  and  brainless  ;  but  such  a  com- 
bination of  the  qualities  I  never  expected  to  meet  in  man  ; 
it  makes  me  blush  for  the  vices  of  my  sex  !" 

"Do  not  scold  him,  dear,  do  not  scold  him!"  cried 
Margaret,  joyously.  "My  heart  is  too  full  of  thankful- 
ness to  hear  a  word  against  him." 

"My  dear  Mistress  —  Margaret,"  said  I,  "I  would  not 
for  the  world  dash  your  Joy,  but  there  is  still  much  to  do. 
for  I  doubt  if  even  the  King  could  give  a  pardon  olV- 
hand  in  this  fashion.  Remember,  England  is  not  France." 

"Oh,  do  not  say  it  is  useless  !'"  she  cried,  in  sudden 
alarm. 

"Not  useless,  certainly.  I  doubt,  however,  if  the 
presentation  of  that  scrap  of  paper  before  the  gates  of 
Fort  William  would  reward  you  with  anything  more 
than  the  most  bitter  of  disappointments  and  a  broken 
heart.  It  was  an  easy  way  enough  for  his  Grace  to  rid 
liimself  of  our  inij^ortunities,  but  we'll  make  it  more  ef- 
fective than  ho  guesses.  Now  is  the  time  for  the  Vi- 
eomte  to  play  his  part.  He  is  in  a  position  where,  with 
many  anxious  to  do  him  favours,  he  can  readily  place  this 
in  the  proper  channel  where  it  will  go  through  the  neces- 
sary hands,  of  which  we  know  nothing,  and  could  not 

'10 


w 


I    TAKE    TO    THE    ROAD    AGAIN 

reach  if  we  did  ;  he  can  so  place  it  without  reflection  on 
his  position,  without  suspicion  of  his  motive,  and  I'm 
certain  you  can  count  upon  liis  best  efforts  in  your  ser- 
vice." 

*'Como,  come,  Ilughie !"  broke  in  Lady  Jane;  **you 
needn't  be  trying  to  take  credit  to  yourself  for  what 
Gaston  is  only  too  ready  to  do.  Tliat  your  flattering  and 
ready  tongue  stood  us  in  good  stead  with  this  silly  noddy 
I'll  not  dispute,  but  I  can  readily  see  as  clearly  as  he  says 
he  can  ;  and  though  your  suggestion  is  good,  it  should 
end  there.     Lot  Gaston  make  his  offers  himself." 

So  I  laughed,  and  at  once  abandoned  that  line  of  ap- 
proach. Lady  Jane  might  not  always  have  control  of  her 
temper,  but  she  knew  every  move  a  man  might  make, 
even  before  he  realised  it  himself,  as  in  tiie  present  in- 
stance ;  possibly  this  was  the  reason  she  was  so  tolerant 
of  my  sex. 

However,  I  had  but  little  time  for  such  reflections. 
The  more  I  thought  over  the  end  of  our  interview  with 
the  Duke  the  less  I  liked  it,  and  on  comparing  impres- 
sions with  Lady  Jane  on  our  arrival  at  Essex  Street,  she 
quite  agreed  that  I  was  in  a  ticklish  position.  London 
was  then  infested  with  spies,  most  of  whom  had  a  keen 
scent  for  what  the  failure  of  our  late  enterprise  had  now 
fixed  as  treason,  and  despite  my  precaution  in  keeping 
out  of  questionable  resorts  and  company,  I  knew  that  in 
my  case  'twas  little  more  difficult  to  smoke  the  Jacobite, 
than  the  gentleman,  in  whatever  disguise  I  might  nssume. 

"nughic,  I'm  not  one  for  silly  alarms,"  said  Lady 
Jane,  '*  but  I  mistrust  that  doddering  old  pantaloon,  and 
'you  must  build  a  high  wall  to  keep  out  fear.'  You've 
done  all  you  can  here,  and  I  doubt  but  you've  got  your- 
self in  a  rare  coil  in  the  doing  of  it.  Now  to  undo  it  as 
best  we  may." 

'Til  not  deny  that  tliiags  look  '  unchancy,'  as  we  say 
in  the  North,  Cousin  Jane  ;  but,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  don't 

41 


M 


!  I 


HI 


m 


!    < 


»  t 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

see  how  they  are  to  be  bettered  by  anything  I  can  do 
now." 

"  My  heart !  But  men  are  slow  to  see  ahead  !  We  will 
be  away  out  of  tliis  tlie  moment  we  are  assured  of  this 
young  call'uit's  safety,  in  a  week  or  so  at  most,  I  hope.  I 
will  take  ship  from  Harwich,  and  you  shall  Journey  with 
us  as  my  servant,  my  courier." 

**  Do  you  think  that  is  absolutely  necessary,  cousin  ?" 

'*  Ilugliie,  Ilughie,  how  long  will  you  continue  to  walk 
with  Vanity  ?" 

*^  Just  so  long  as  I  must  lie  down  with  Adversity,  cous- 
in. Cannot  you  understand  it  is  humiliating  for  a  man 
of  my  condition  to  go  masquerading  about  the  country 
as  a  lackey  ?" 

**Not  so  readily  as  I  can  understand  the  awkwardness 
of  being  laid  by  the  heels.  Master  llugliio.  \ow  don't 
have  any  more  nonsense !  Do  you  start  off  this  very 
night  for  Huntingdon,  and  lie  at  the  Boll  Inn  there,  until 
you  hear  from  me.  It  will  not  be  for  more  than  a  week. 
Let  me  see,  yes,  'Simpkin'  will  be  a  good  name  for 
you." 

"Do  I  look  like  Simpkin  ?"  I  returned,  indignantly. 

"  My  certes,  no  I  You  look  more  like  the  Grand  Turk 
at  the  moment,"  she  answered,  laughing.  "  But  you 
must  conceal  your  raidc,  my  lord,  by  your  modesty  and 
*Mr.  Simpkin,' until  I  can  offer  it  a  more  effective  cover- 
ing in  a  suit  of  bottle-green  livery." 

"I  trust  your  ladysliip  will  not  require  any  reference 
as  to  character  ?" 

"  It  is  written  on  your  face,  sir.  There  !  I  will  coun- 
tersign it  for  you,"  whereat  she  put  her  two  hands  on  my 
cheeks  and  kissed  me. 

*'  'Pon  my  soul.  Cousin  Jane,  I  don't  wonder  the  men 
raved  over  you  !"  I  said,  in  admiration. 

*'  No,  poor  things,  it  doesn't  take  much  to  set  them  off 
at  the  best  of  times.     But  do  not  begin  your  flatteries, 

43 


I    TAKE    TO    TUE    ROAD    AGAIN 

Ilnghie ;  even  age  is  no  warrant  for  common -sense 
when  it  moots  witli  old  gratilications.  Bo  olt*,  now,  and 
get  back  here  for  supper,  ready  for  your  travels." 


I  liurried  off  to  my  old  lodgings,  and  soon  made  such 
preparation  for  my  journey  as  was  necessary. 

When  I  parted  from  Mistress  Koutli  I  said  :  ''I  have 
learned  during  the  time  spent  under  your  roof  how  ir- 
revocable your  resolve  is,  and  have  accepted  it  as  abso- 
lutely as  yourstdf,  but  now  that  I  am  going  away  from 
England,  which  I  sliall  probably  never  set  foot  in  again, 
and  it  is  still  more  probable  that  we  may  never  meet, 
I  have  one  promise  to  exact  which  you  cannot  refuse. 
It  is  presumable  my  way  in  life  will  be  in  some  degree 
successful,  and  that  my  soii  may  some  day  need  such 
aid  as  I  may  be  able  to  give  him  ;  he  is  yours  while 
you  live,  but  promise  me  when  your  time  comes  you 
will  tell  him  who  his  father  is.  Because  you  have 
chosen  a  ditferent  way  of  life  from  mine,  do  not  be 
tempted  to  allow  the  boy  to  go  to  strangers  when  you 
know  he  has  a  heart  waiting  to  love  and  cherish  him. 
I  have  never  done  a  dishonourable  action  in  my  life,  so 
far  as  I  can  judge,  and,  if  only  for  his  sake,  I  will  al- 
ways try  and  keep  my  conscience  free  to  make  the 
same  affirmation.  A  message  to  Mr.  Drummond,  the 
banker,  in  Charing  Cross,  will  always  find  me.  Can 
you  refuse  ?" 

"No;  it  is  only  justice.  Your  claim  comes  after 
mine.  I  promise  I  will  not  die  without  telling  the 
boy  who  you  are." 

For  herself  she  resolutely  refused  to  take  a  shilling 
more  than  was  due  for  my  lodging,  but  I  succeeded  in 
forcing  her  acceptance  of  a  matter  of  twenty  pounds, 
the  last  of  my  own  money,  not  Lady  Jane's,  to  be  used 
for  the  boy.  She  stood  beside  me  silent  and  unmoved 
while  I  kissed  him  in   his  sleep,  and  when   I   parted 

43 


'  i 


li' 


■ 
)  4 


fill 


PT 


it 


TIIK    SPAN    O'    LIFK 

from  hor  she  said.  "  (iood-hyo,  ('jiptaiii  (lenildiiio,"  with 
a  coin|)()smv  I  fain  would  liuvo  assumL'd  myself,  but  it 
was  impossible. 

Tlio  supper  at  Lady  Jane's  was  p^ay  onongli.  even  the 
\'ieointe  contribiitiiiij:  his  modii'iun  of  eiitertainmunt,  no 
doubt  stimulafed  tlu'reto  by  the  tliou.<:;ht  of  my  near  de- 
parture, and  surely,  when  a  man  nniy  give  jileasure  by  his 
goings  as  well  as  by  his  eomings,  he  is  in  a  position  to  bo 
envied.  1  sang  Jaeobite  songs  tluit  evening  with  an  ex- 
pression that  would  have  carried  conviction  to  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland  himself,  ami  when  I  took  my  departure 
with  tiie  N'icomte  after  midnight,  1  left  a  veritable  hot- 
bed of  sedition  behind. 

My  companion,  though  outwardly  civil,  took  my  little 
pleasantries  with  so  ill  a  grace  that  I  was  in  a  measure 
prepared  for  his  words  at  our  parting  before  the  coach- 
office. 

"Chevalier,  you  are  a  man  of  many  charming  parts  ; 
I  trust  you  will  long  be  spared  to  exercise  them  in 
quarters  where  they  may  fail  to  give  ofTence  to  any  one." 

"My  dear  Vicomte,"  I  replied,  "Providence  has  be- 
stowed on  me  only  my  poor  talents,  but  has  not  granted 
me  the  power  to  provide  appreciation  in  others.  Still,  if 
you  should  feel  at  any  time  that  I  am  answerable  for 
your  personal  short- comings,  do  not,  I  pray,  let  any 
false  delicacy  stand  in  your  way.  I  should  be  com- 
plimented in  sustaining  such  an  argument."  At  which 
he  only  bowed  in  his  stateliest  manner,  and  wishing  me 
a  safe  journey,  bent  his  stejis  towards  St.  James's  Street. 

I  must  confess  such  a  quarrel  would  have  been  infinite- 
ly to  my  taste,  but  unfortunately  there  would  have  been 
no  satisfaction  to  me,  even  had  I  pushed  it  to  a  suc- 
cessful issue.  My  way  towards  Margaret  was  stopped  by 
a  much  more  serious  obstacle  than  any  man  who  ever 
drew  sword.     Did  the  Vicomte  but  know  this,  possibly 

44 


1    TAKE    TO    Tllli:    KOAD    AGAIN 


my  connection  witli  Lady  Jano  mi^^lit  not  lijiv(^  appoarcd 
to  him  HO  ra(li(!ala  rctason  for  k^Hipin;^  tliu  [)L'a'(!L'  bt'twemi 
UK.  Willi  tlit'si!  thoughts  and  oLliors  j^ormaiio  to  them  I 
whilod  away  the  timi;  luilil  the  coach  was  ready,  and  at 
the  tlead  hour  of  two  in  the  moriiiiii^  wc  rolhsd  out  of 
London  on  onr  way  to  Huntingdon,  where  wo  urrived  at 
ei^'ht,  the  roih)wing  (!venin<!^. 

1  put  up  at  the  Mell,  which  was  comfortable  enouf^h, 
and  ma(h'  shift  to  emph)y  my  time  tlirouj^h  the  h)ng  week 
before  me  iu  some  manner  that  won  hi  reasonably  iw,- 
coiint  for  my  stay  in  a  dull  country  town  which  oll'ered. 
no  attractions  to  a  man  of  fashion. 

At  len,c;th  my  letters  reached  me,  and  my  gorge  rose  at 
the  address : 

Mr.  Simpkin, 

LyiiKj  at  the  Bell  Inn, 

Huntingdon, 

Now  it  liad  never  cost  me  a  second  thought  to  travel 
as  a  pedlar  when  making  my  esca])e  from  Scotland,  but 
this  wishy-washy  nonentity  of  a  name  annoyed  me  be- 
yond measure.  Think  you,  did  ever  "  Mr.  Sim{)kin"  sa- 
lute at  Fontenoy,  or  make  a  leg  at  Marly  ?  I  doubt  it. 
Nor  is  it  strange  that  a  man,  with  no  more  vanity  than 
myself,  should  find  some  little  vexation  at  the  perver- 
sity of  Lady  Jane  in  fastening  this  ridicule  upon  me. 
That  it  was  intentional  I  could  not  doubt  from  lier  letter, 
for  she  rallied  me  upon  it  at  every  turn  she  could  drag  in. 
However,  I  hail  the  consolation  that  I  was  to  join  her 
forthwith  at  Harwich,  and  my  journey  across  the  country 
over  bad  roads  with  a  pair  of  wretched  nags  gave  me 
more  material  discomforts  to  rail  at,  and  by  these  means 
I  brought  myself  to  a  frame  of  mind  that  I  could  at 
least  imagine  Lady  Jane's  enjoyment  of  her  childish 
jest. 

When  I  reached  Newmarket,  I  found,  to  my  disgust, 

45 


i 


ii 


t  i 


.4  1 


wsBssa 


S! 


h 


:U' 


h  I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

it  was  impossible  to  go  forward  again  that  night,  but 
was  on  tho  road  brigiit  and  early  the  next  morning ; 
however,  it  wus  evening  before  I  was  set  down  at  a 
decent-looking  inn  beside  an  arm  of  the  sea,  across  which 
I  saw  tiie  spires  of  Harwich  twinkling  a  welcome  to  mo 
in  the  setting  sun. 

Having  settled  with  the  post-boys,  1  desired  the  land- 
lord to  attend  me  within. 

"  I  see  you  have  boats  there,  which  is  fortunate,  for  I 
wish  to  bo  set  across  the  water  at  once,"  I  said,  on  his 
entry. 

''That  is  impossible,  your  hononr;  it  is  too  late." 

"Nonsense,  my  man.  There  is  for  a  bottle  of  your 
best,  and  enongh  to  make  up  to  you  my  not  remaining 
overnight.     I  must  set  off  at  once  !" 

"  But,  your  honour,  it  can't  be  done.  No  boat  is  al- 
lowed to  cross  after  sunset.  The  frigate  lying  there  is 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  prevent  it.  'Tis  on  account 
of  the  smuggling." 

"  Don't  talk  such  rank  nonsense  to  mo,  sir.  Do  I  look 
like  a  smuggler  ?" 

"  No,  your  honour,  yon  do  not,  so  far  as  I  can  judge." 

'*  Then  come,  my  man,  I  must  be  put  across." 

"Oh,  sir,  'tis  of  no  use  ^  I  should  be  a  ruined  man," 
cried  the  poor-spirited  creature,  almost  snivelling. 

Seeing  this,  I  tried  him  on  a  new  tack.  "  You  scoun- 
drel !"  said  I,  laying  my  hand  on  my  sword  and  advanc- 
ing towards  him  threateningly,  "if  you  fail  to  have  me 
on  my  way  before  half  an  hour  is  over,  I'll  pink  the  soul 
out  of  you." 

"Oh  Lord,  sir,  have  a  care  what  you  do  !"  he  shri 
in  terror,  and  before  I  could  intercept  him  he  had  tin  ■     ii 
open  the  door  into  the  adjoining  room,  where  three  olll- 
cers  sat  at  their  wine  before  the  fire. 

"  Captain  Galway  !  Your  honour  !  I  am  undone  for 
upholding  the  law  !     Save  me  !    Save  me  !" 

46 


I 


I    TAKK    TO    Tin:    ROAD    AGAIN 


"  Damn  you  for  ii  whining  hound  !  Wliut  do  you  nioun 
by  rushing  in  liko  this  ?"  roared  tho  otlicor  addressed, 
who  I  marked  wore  a  naval  uniCorin. 

During  tho  babel  of  explanations  wliich  followed  from 
the  terrified  creature,  I  was  by  no  means  easy  in  my 
mind,  for  1  could  not  but  think  tlio  fri-jjate  was  stationed 
there  for  a  purpose  that  touched  me  more  nearly  than 
smuggling;,  and  certainly  King's  olliijers  were  not  the 
company  I  should  have  chosen.  But  hesitation  would 
have  been  the  height  of  folly.  I  advanced  assuredly, 
and  addressing  the  company,  said  : 

"  Gentlemen,  your  pardon,  for  I  am  afraid  that  I  am 
really  more  to  blame  than  this  poor  man,  who  it  appears 
was  only  preventing  an  unintentional  breach  of  the  law 
on  my  part.  The  truth  is,  I  am  most  anxious  to  cross 
over  to  Harwich  to-night,  and  had  no  tiiought  to  meet 
with  any  obstacle  in  my  design,  least  of  all  that  1  should 
be  taken  for  a  smuggler." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  this,  and  he  whom  the  inn- 
keeper had  addressed  as  Captain  Galway  said,  roundly 
enough  : 

**  Thank  God,  sir,  his  Majesty's  officers  have  still  some- 
thing above  the  excise  to  look  after  !" 

*'  Then,  sir,"  I  replied,  though  his  words  confirmed 
me  in  my  suspicion,  "  I  have  but  this  moment  paid  for  a 
bottle  of  our  host's  best ;  we  can  discus^;  it  with  your 
leave,  and  it  may  serve  as  footing  for  my  interruption." 

There  were  bows  on  all  sides  at  this,  and  my  gentle- 
man introduced  himself  as  Captain  Galway,  commanding 
the  Triumphant,  now  riding  at  anchor  in  the  bay,  and 
his  friends  as  Major  Green  way  and  Captain  llargreaves, 
of  the  'd'l^  Regiment.  In  turn  I  introduced  myself  as 
Mr.  Johnstone,  for  I  was  determined  to  have  done  with 
Mr.  Simpkin,  come  what  might. 

**Ah!"  drawled  Captain  Hargreaves,  *'one  of  the 
Johnsons  of  Worcester  ?" 

47 


m 


m  I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


if' 


"No,"  I  answered,  shortly;  ''mine  is  the  Border 
family,  but  I  come  direct  from  London." 

Much  to  my  relief,  our  host  nov/  made  his  appearance 
with  the  wine,  and  put  an  end  to  this  uncomfortable 
questioning.  His  sample  proved  excellent ;  so  good  that 
I  toubted  if  even  the  smuggling  story  might  not  have 
some  foundation,  and  so  exact  was  it  to  Captain  Galway's 
palate  that  before  we  had  made  an  end  of  the  second 
bottle  he  swore  by  all  his  gods,  whose  seats  appeared  to 
be  chiefly  in  those  parts  which  served  for  his  most  im- 
portant corporate  functions,  that  I  should  be  put  across 
the  water  though  he  had  to  do  it  himself. 

So  far  everything  seemed  to  run  exactly  to  my  liking  ; 
but  when  at  his  invitation  I  took  my  jilace  in  the  stern- 
sheets  of  his  boat,  it  was  not  without  uneasiness  I  ob- 
served Captain  Ilargreaves  draw  him  aside  and  whisper 
to  him  earnestly,  and  on  his  takii-g  his  place  I  saw  his 
humour  was  altered. 

He  ordered  his  men  to  give  way  in  a  voice  that  sug- 
gested the  clap  of  a  prison  door,  and  his  first  words  to 


me  were  scarce  reassuring 


*'  You  are  from  the  Border,  you  say,  Mr.  Johnstone  ? 
Possibly  from  the  northern  side  ?" 

*'Yes,"  I  answered,  seeing  what  was  before  me,  and 
cursing  the  ill  luck  that  had  drawn  me  into  such  a  trap, 
but  determined  to  put  a  bold  face  on  it.  *'  Yes,  I  am 
from  Kirksmuir,  beyond  Lanark." 

*'  Then  you  may  know  my  midshipman  here,  Mr. 
Lockhart,  of  Carnwath  ?"  and  he  indicated  a  lad  about 
eighteen  beside  me. 

My  heart  sank  within  me,  for  this  very  boy's  elder 
brother  had  unfortunately  been  drawn  into  this  unhappy 
rebellion,  and  with  him  I  had  been  intimate.  I  ha'! 
been  a  constant  guest  at  his  father's  house,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  what  this  3'Oungster  might  have  heard. 

"  Mr.    Lockhart's   family    is   lionourably  known,  sir, 

'18 


1 


!i 


T 


I 


■H 


Hi 


i] 


I 


III 

li   b 


f\ 


Is 


T> 


I    TAKE   TO    TUE    ROAD    AGAIN 


tliroughont  our  country,  and  I  doubt  not  he  can  speak 
equally  vvc41  of  my  own,"  1  returned,  in  my  best  man- 
ner ,  and  fortunately  for  me  the  lad  was  either  so  bash- 
ful, or  so  busily  employed  in  racking  his  brain  to  puzzle 
out  what  family  mine  was,  that  he  could  make  no  reply, 
and  I  went  on,  with  my  most  careless  air  : 

"Surely,  Captain  Galway,  it  is  unnecessary  to  keep  so 
far  down  with  the  tide  as  it  sets.  I  would  not  take  you 
out  of  your  way  for  the  world." 

*'  Oh,  nonsense  V  he  cried,  with  a  poor  attempt  at 
heartiness.  "  You  shall  come  on  board.  We  too  seldom 
meet  with  one  of  your  quality  to  part  so  easily.  You 
must  make  your  excuses  to  your  friends.  Say  you  were 
kept  a  prisoner."     And  he  laughed  loudly  at  his  wit. 

Good  heavens  !  how  I  despised  the  man  who  could 
make  a  jest  of  a  fellow-creature  in  such  a  strait !  Had  I 
been  a  swimmer,  I  Avould  have  taken  the  chance  of  a 
plunge  over  the  side  ;  but  in  my  case  that  would  have 
been  little  short  of  suicide. 

"  Come,  sir,  come  !  You  make  a  poor  return  for  my 
ofier  of  hospitality,"  he  continued,  banteringly  ;  "you 
are  not  at  all  the  same  man  I  took  you  for  at  the  inn." 

"  Pardon  me,"  I  returned,  quickly,  for  his  last  remark 
spurred  me  to  my  utmost  effort,  "you  gentlemen  who 
go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships  forget  that  we  landsmen  find 
even  the  wobble  of  a  boat  discommoding.  No  man  is 
the  same  with  an  uneasy  stomach." 

"Next  thing  to  an  uneasy  conscience — eh,  Mr.  John- 
stone ?" 

"Worse,  sir,  far  worse.  You  may  forget  the  one  at 
times,  but  the  other  is  never  at  rest." 

"Oh,  well,  we  are  for  a  time  now,  at  all  events  !"  he 
cried,  with  a  ring  of  triunn)h  in  his  voice,  as  we  slowed 
up  alongside  the  great  ship,  and  the  sailors  made  us  fast 
by  the  ladder. 

"  After  you,  sir,"  said  my  tormentor,  as  he  pointed 
p  49 


f  :i1 


n 


^4 


^1 


k 


i1   7 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

upward,  and,  willy-nilly,  I  mounted  the  shaking  steps 
with  tiio  horrid  thought  that  perhaps  it  was  the  last  lad- 
der I  should  mount  save  one  that  would  lead  to  a  plat- 
form whence  I  would  make  my  last  bow  to  a  howling 
mob  at  Tyburn. 

*'It  is  fast  growing  dark,  sir  ;  we  will  not  stand  on 
ceremony,"  said  the  captain,  leading  to  the  cabin. 

"Do  not,  I  pray,"  I  answered,  with  some  firmness, 
for  now  I  was  only  anxious  for  the  last  act  of  the  ghastly 
farce  to  end  ;  the  suspense  was  growing  intolerable. 

When  wine  and  glasses  were  placed  before  us,  the 
captain  filled  them  both  and  raised  his. 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Mr.  Johnstone,  I  am  sorry  to  lose  so 
good  a  companion,  but  we  must  not  put  your  landsman's 
endurance  to  too  hard  a  proof.  I  wish  you  a  safe  arrival 
with  all  my  heart !     My  men  will  put  you  ashore  at 


}) 


once 

I  was  so  fluttered  by  the  unexpected  turn  and  the 
honest  heartiness  he  threw  into  his  words  that  1  could 
scarce  reply,  but  in  some  way  I  made  my  acknowledg- 
ments. In  a  few  moments  I  was  over  the  side  and  speed- 
ing towards  the  Harwich  shore  with  all  the  force  of  six 
oars  pulled  by  six  ini})atieiit  men.  and  I'll  wager  none 
among  them  was  so  impatient  ad  the  passenger  they  car- 
ried. 

50 


CHAPTER  VTI 


M 


HOW  I   COME  TO  TAKE   A    GREAT   RESOLVE 

I  REWARDED  the  men  handsomely  enough  to  call  forth 
their  approval,  and  made  my  compliments  so  fully  to 
Mr.  Lockhart,  with  so  many  messages  to  his  family,  that 
I  left  him  more  puzzled  than  ever  as  to  who  Mr.  John- 
stone of  Kirksmuir  might  be  ;  and  then  picking  up  my 
portmantoau,  made  as  though  I  would  cuter  the  town. 

Once  the  boat  was  safely  out  of  sight,  I  looked  about 
for  a  quiet  spot,  and  proceeded  to  elfect  a  transformation 
in  my  outward  appearance  more  in  keeping  with  my  new 
r61e  of  courier.  Removing  my  wig,  I  smoothed  my  hair 
back,  and  fastened  it  with  a  plain  riband.  I  undid  my 
sword,  and  snapping  the  blade,  put  the  hilt,  which  was 
handsomely  mounted  in  silver,  to  one  side,  and  then 
stripping  the  lace  and  silver  braid  oil  my  hat,  I  bound 
wig  and  blade  together  and  flung  them  into  the  sea. 
From  my  portmanteau  I  took  a  pair  of  stout  black  hose 
which  I  drew  over  the  more  modish  ones  I  wore,  re- 
moved the  buckles  from  my  shoes,  and  placing  them 
with  the  sword-hilt  in  the  portmanteau,  muffled  myself 
carefully  in  my  cloak,  and,  taking  up  my  burden,  trudged 
towards  the  town. 

I  found  the  inn  where  Lady  Jane  and  ^Margaret  lodged 
without  difficulty,  and  on  my  inquiry  for  them  tiie  land- 
lord said  : 

"If  you  are  the  servant  my  lady  has  been  expecting, 
let  me  tell  you  you  have  been  within  an  ace  of  losing 
your  place,  for  you  are  a  day  late,  and  but  for  the  wind 

51 


il 


r\ 


1' 


\)  II 


i 

i 


til 


■i 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

she  would  have  sailed  this  morning.  Yon  are  to  go  to 
your  room  at  once,  and  then  yon  wait  on  her,  and  I,  for 
one,  don't  envy  you  your  reception  I  Take  your  things 
and  come  this  way." 

The  thouglit  of  being  so  near  friends  banished  any 
petty  annoyance  I  might  have  felt  at  this  treatment ;  in- 
deed I  could  but  so  admire  Lady  Jane's  cleverness  that 
I  entered  into  the  jest,  and  inquired  what  manner  of  per- 
son my  new  mistress  might  be. 

**  Masterful,  masterful.  'Tis  a  God's  mercy  sho  ^^as 
not  born  a  man,  or  it  might  have  been  ill  holding  with 
her  !"  the  honest  creature  returned,  with  much  decision, 
and  I  at  once  placed  him  as  a  man  of  fair  judgment. 

In  my  room  I  found  the  suit  of  bottle-green  livery 
Lady  Jane  had  promised  laid  out  for  mo,  so  I  soon  made 
my  transformation  complete,  and  presented  myself  at  the 
door  my  guide  had  pointed  out. 

My  cousin's  voice,  in  answer  to  my  discreet  signal  on 
the  panel,  bade  me  enter,  and  my  welcome  was  a  merry 
one.  IIow  I  made  them  laugh  over  my  appearance  ! 
With  what  satisfaction  did  I  turn  the  tables  on  Lady 
Jane  by  the  landlord's  estimate  of  her  character,  when 
she  attempted  to  resume  her  quizzing  over  "  Mr.  Simp- 
kin"!  But  it  was  wlien  1  came  to  the  relation  of  my 
adventure  with  Captain  Galway  that  I  mot  a  veritable 
triumph.  To  Lady  Jane  it  afforded  a  new  mark  for  her 
wit,  and  she  professed  to  be  vastly  amused  at  my  ground- 
less alarm;  but  to  Margaret,  who  vas  much  distressed 
by  Lady  Jane's  levity,  'twas  all  tragedy  of  the  most  seri- 
ous description. 

Tho  measures  taken  for  her  brother's  safety  had  proved 
entirely  ell'ectual,  and  it  was  clear  that  Margaret  credited 
me  solely  with  his  release,  which  was  now  assured,  though 
I  honestly  believe  the  Duke's  signature  would  have  been 
only  so  much  worthless  paper  had  I  not  suggested  the  Vi- 
comte's  services.     Be  this  as  it  may,  I  did  not  hold  1  was 

m 


n 


r-w^-  ■-■»"-•■»' -'T-»^?«V, 


^'^'^*V#^ 


i 


■< 

■< 
a 

•< 


OS 

u 
o 

BS 
O 


a 


'     >  n 

1  i 

•     A 

Ml 

i 


!iy 


i; 


M 


s  ; 


fc 
k 

Pi 

OE 

an 

da 

cai> 

did 

woi 

the 

stjj 

OVGI 

Har 

no  s; 

had 

True 

but  t 

conin 

Confc 

Upon 

appre] 

osity  ' 

in  a  ba 

more  c 

qnalifci, 

ness. 

might  I 

a  fair,  a 

ing  the 

Our  nioi 

"lias 

ernor  wc 

if  he  wer 

rest  of  h; 


H  t 


'    TAKE 


"BEAT   i.ESOlVE 


ju        ,  -~-xA    "i2< SOLVE 

0° ""wakening tlLwTl^  ""^  '■<'^'  """-ninff  bnf     , 

stf-i::™  -"  -  =S  If.?'"  "=-■ 

^•>ht  resenM         '"  ^'^^^^  ^  realised  J  .1'  ""^'^  ^Pen. 

if  he  were  Vl  7'     "''^'"S  in  ins  walk  ,  ,"      '  •  """  f'""" 

S3 


i' 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


it 


"  Fve  no  donbt  he'll  prove  stnpid  enough  when  we  get 
where  we  really  neod  him,"  she  would  answer,  coolly, 
bending  over  some  favourite  flower.  "  'Tis  really  shame- 
ful the  lying  recommendation  one's  friends  give  servants 
nowadays." 

'*lle  looks  stupid  enough  to  prove  honest,"  growled 
the  Governor,  "  but  if  he  were  put  through  a  few  weeks* 
drill,  with  my  sergeant's  cane  behind  those  fat  calves  of 
his,  'twould  smarten  him  up  a  bit." 

"  What  lovely  Gueldre  roses !"  exclaimed  Margaret,  en- 
thusiastically, and  straightway  fell  to  praising  one  flow- 
er after  another  with  such  rapidity  and  success  that  even 
Lady  Jane's  ingenuity  could  find  no  opportunity  to  lead 
the  Governor  back  to  the  torture  again. 

However,  I  had  my  revenge,  for  Lady  Jane  herself 
was  unpleasantly  startled  that  same  day  as  we  sate  at 
dinner  in  our  room,  and  tlie  Governor  chose  to  pay  ua 
another  visit  without  warning. 

There  was  a  frantic  scurry  for  a  few  moments  as  we 
removed  all  traces  of  my  place,  and  his  Excellency  must 
have  had  a  suspicious  train  of  thought  running  through 
his  head  as  he  waited  for  me  to  unlock  the  door.  This 
I  did  with  unmoved  countenance,  and  Lady  Jane  made 
the  excuse  of  being  somewhat  en  deshabille,  as  the  room 
was  over-warm  with  the  fire,  and  it  passed  without  fur- 
ther remark,  though  I  could  see  he  eyed  me  from  time  to 
time  as  I  stood  behind  her  chair.  I  waited  on  them,  I 
.flatter  myself,  quite  as  perfectly  as  the  most  highly  train- 
ed servant — for  the  table  is  a  point  to  which  I  have  al- 
ways devoted  much  attention,  and  my  knowledge  stood 
me  in  good  stead  now. 

Whatever  his  suspicions  were,  he  did  not  dare  to  make 
them  known  ;  Ludy  Jane  was  a  person  of  too  recognised 
a  position  not  to  make  it  highly  inconvenient  for  any  one 
who  might  interfere  with  her  without  due  justification; 
and  the  next  day  we  sailed  without  hinderauce. 

54 


■-iiWrtJuHWWWWiiWt" 


n 


1    TAKE    A    GREAT    RESOLVE 

Upon  our  arrival  at  the  na|j:ne,  the  first  letter  we  re- 
ceived was  one  from  the  Vicomte  to  Margaret,  assuring 
her  of  her  brother^s  safety,  and  informing  her  it  was 
commonly  reported  in  London  that  Prince  Charles  had 
escaped  to  the  continent  in  the  train  of  Lady  Jane  Drum- 
mond,  so  we  knew  to  a  certainty  the  Governor  had  mis- 
taken me  for  the  Prince,  and  informed  the  Court  of  his 
suspicions. 

Whether  the  mistake  was  flattering  to  me  or  not,  I 
cannot  fairly  judge.  So  far  as  the  Prince  stood  morally 
or  intellectually,  he  was  beneath  my  contempt,  but  phys- 
ically, my  impression  is  that  he  was  handsome — at  least 
he  had  a  fine  carriage  and  bearing.  It  is  most  difficult 
to  judge  any  man  in  his  position ;  all  my  training  and 
education,  and  that  of  my  ancestors  for  generations  be- 
fore me,  had  been  such  that  I  have  scarce  been  able  to 
look  on  a  king  save  with  a  feeling  close  akin  to  rever- 
ence. So  with  these  reservations  I  allow  the  dubious 
compliment  to  pass.  But  whatever  I  might  think,  there 
was  no  doubt  but  the  circumstance  had  raised  me  many 
d'  :es  in  Margaret's  estimation.  And  this  also  I  owed 
to  the  unwitting  services  of  the  Vicomte,  Avho  had  suc- 
cessively helped  me  on  to  nearly  every  advance  in  her 
affections. 


n 


:  I 


1 


From  the  Hague  we  journeyed  by  easy  stages  to  Paris, 
where  Lady  Jane  found  suitable  lodgings  for  herself  and 
Margaret  in  the  rue  Dauphine,  while  I  found  a  humble 
one,  better  fitted  to  my  purse,  in  the  rue  du  Petit-Bourbon. 

I  at  once  made  application  to  join  my  old  regiment, 
but  to  my  chagrin  I  was  only  put  off  from  month  to 
month,  and,,  insisting  on  an  answer,  I  was  curtly  in- 
formed there  was  no  captaincy  vacant,  and  I  must  remain 
satisfied  with  the  small  pension  the  king  was  pleased  to 
give  me  as  officer  in  the  Scottish  expedition,  or  accept  a 
subaltern's  position. 

55 


TUE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


I 


'i 
I;  I 


When  the  Vioomte  arrived,  by  tlie  end  of  May,  he  re- 
snmcd  his  position  in  the  Royal  Giuird,  and  his  evening 
visits  to  Lady  .Tanc,  or  rather  to  Margaret.  About  the 
middle  of  tlie  sui.imcr  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  an  au- 
thentic copy  of  the  Act  of  Indemnity,  which  was  studied 
with  the  greatest  interest  by  us  all.  The  terms  were 
fair,  oven  generous,  but  I  was  not  astonished  to  lind  my 
name  among  those  excluded  from  its  favour.  It  mattered 
little  to  me  that  I  was  henceforward  a  marked  man,  with 
a  price  on  my  head,  doomed  to  perpetual  banishment ; 
for,  being  in  no  sense  an  Englishman,  and  a  Scot  only  by 
descent,  exclusion  from  the  Three  Kingdoms  meant  little 
to  me  ;  blood  and  training  had  made  me  an  alien  in  feel- 
ing, and  fate  had  ever  thrown  me  and  mine  on  the  side 
of  the  unfortunate  ;  Maxwells  and  Geraldines,  we  had  al- 
ways been  on  the  losing  side  ;  it  had  become  second 
nature.  But  with  Margaret  it  was  far  different.  Iler 
generous  soul  was  in  arms  at  once  ;  my  exclusion  from 
the  Act  had  raised  me  to  the  niche  of  a  hero  in  her  tem- 
ple, and  again  it  was  the  Vicomte  who  had  contributed  to 
this  elevation. 

Margaret  now  began  to  grow  anxious  again  concerning 
her  brother.  Why  did  he  not  join  us  ?  Could  any  new 
complication  have  arisen  to  cause  his  re-arrest  ?  These 
and  a  thousand  other  disturbing  speculations  troubled 
her  unceasingly,  until  they  were  put  beyond  all  doubt  by 
a  letter,  which  fell  upon  us  like  a  bomb  : 

"January  19,  1748. 

"My  dearest  Peggy, — I  have  resolved  on  a  step  which  I  can 
scarce  expect  you  to  approve,  perhaps  not  even  to  understand  at 
present,  though  I  have  every  hope  that  some  day  you  will  do  both. 

"My  situation  briefly  is  this:  I  have  no  hope  vfhatever  of 
another  effectual  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  Prince,  and  I  have  set 
my  face  against  foreign  service.  Still,  I  was  bred  to  the  sword, 
and  so  must  bide  by  it.  As  I  have  neither  the  means  nor  the  in- 
clination for  an  idle  existence,  and  it  has  pleased  the  King  to  grant 

56 


I    TAKE    A    GREAT    RESOLVE 


me  my  pardon  without  exacting  any  terms,  I  am  resolved  to  ofTer 
him  my  sword  and  duty  witliout  reserve. 

"Let  no  one  persuade  yon  into  tliinking  tliat  I  am  playing  a 
part,  or  have  been  won  over  by  new  friends  or  promises.  I  liave 
won  myself  over  from  empty  plots  and  idle  dreams  to  an  honourable 
career,  and  I  have  put  the  past  from  me  without  a  regret,  save  tliat 
my  decision  will  cause  you  pain,  my  dear  and  oidy  sister. 

"  Whether  you  write  me  in  anger  or  write  not  at  all,  you  cannot 
in  any  way  lessen  the  affection  in  which  I  will  always  cherish  you. 

"  Your  loving  hrotlier, 

"AucuD.  Nairn." 

"A  most  sensible  determination,"  I  tliought,  "and 
does  much  credit  both  to  his  sense  of  honour  and  his 
judgment,"  but  I  need  hardly  say  I  took  care  not  to  air 
my  appreciations  of  his  course  before  Lady  Jane,  and 
still  less  before  Mistress  Margaret,  who  was  little  short 
of  distracted. 

The  poor  girl  had  swooned  on  receiving  the  news,  and 
for  two  days  was  utterly  overwhelmed  by  what  she  held 
to  be  the  disgrace  of  his  desertion. 

The  Vicomte  was  singularly  unfortunate  in  his  at- 
tempt at  consolation. 

**  Marguerite,  men  amie,"  he  said  one  evening,  before  us 
all,  *'your  brother  should  lose  no  claim  to  your  esteem. 
Remember,  the  cause  of  the  Prince  Charles  is  lost  beyond 
all  redemption.  Your  brother  is  under  the  greatest  of 
all  obligations  to  his  legal  King  ;  he  owes  him  his  life. 
If  my  humble  opinion  be  of  value,  I  conceive  he  has  acted 
strictly  within  the  laws  which  govern  the  conscience  of  a 
gentleman  and  a  man  of  honour." 

**  Gaston  !  How  dare  you  ?  J.  am  not  a  child  ;  I  am 
a  woman  loyal  to  my  heart's  core  !  I  know  nothing  of 
your  fine  distinctions  which  constitute  '  a  gentleman  and 
a  man  of  honour.'  But  I  do  know  the  feeling  which  made 
men  charge  almost  single-handed  on  the  English  line  at 
Culloden.  I  know,  too,  the  feeling  which  made  the 
humblest   Highland  mother  give   up  the  child  of  her 

67 


.1 


% 


i 


VI 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

heart,  and  wish  she  had  twenty  more,  to  die  for  her 
King  and  her  Prince.  Better — far,  far  better  that  my 
brother  had  died  unpardoned  but  loyal  !  lie  died  for 
me  the  day  his  hand  signed  that  traitorous  compact.  God 
pity  me  !  I  have  neither  father,  mother,  nor  brother 
left.  I  have  ntuight  but  you,"  she  cried,  as  she  buried 
her  face  on  Lady  Jane's  shoulder,  aiul  shook  with  the 
storm  of  grief  that  swepc  over  her.  Lady  Jane  motioned 
us  to  leave,  and  we  withdrew  sorrowfully  enough. 

It  was  weuks  before  the  poor  girl  recovered  lier  old 
liveliness;  but  she  could  not  combat  against  the  natural 
elastic- ity  of  youth,  though  the  struggle  left  its  trace  in 
a  sudden  maturity  quite  unlooked  for.  Her  relation 
towards  the  Vi(;omte  became  visibly  colder  ;  and  ho, 
simple  soul,  instead  of  being  spurred  to  greater  effort, 
went  blundering  on  in  ^^'i  direct  childlike  way,  with  but 
small  effect,  though  warmly  reinforced  by  Lady  Jane. 


$ 


-I  * 


All  this  time  His  Royal  Highness  Prince  Charles  was 
making  no  slight  stir  in  Paris.  He  was  in  deep  dis- 
grace with  the  King,  whom  he  treated  with  the  most 
studied  discourtesy.  A^i  unwelcome  and  dangerous  in- 
truder, he  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the  re- 
peated requests  that  he  should  leave  tlic  cai)ital  ;  he  kept 
open  house  in  his  hotel  on  the  Quai  des  Theatins,  and 
appeared  nightly  at  the  Opera  despite  every  consideration 
of  good  taste  and  breeding.  And  yet  one  ■  half  Paris 
looked  on  and  applauded,  blaming  the  King  for  his  in- 
hospitality  to  this  hero  of  a  hundred  flights. 

I  did  my  own  prospects  of  advancement  no  small  harm 
by  allowir.g  myself  to  accompany  Margaret  a.d  Lady 
Jane  to  one  of  his  levees,  where  he  bestowed  much  ful- 
some flattery  on  me,  though  he  took  good  care  it  should 
reflect  on  himself,  for  he  never  could  jiass  over  an  oc- 
casion to  shine  before  a  woman  —  one  of  ihe  weakest 
vanities  that  ever  inflated  the  soul  of  man. 

58 


I    TAKE    A    GREAT    RESOLVE 


The  Vicomto  was  mnch  oliagrinod  over  our  going,  and 
inclined  to  lay  the  blame  upon  me. 

"  M,  de  Kirkconnel,"  said  he,  addressing  Margaret, 
"should  know  that  such  a  proceeding  is  extremely  in- 
judicious when  the  Prince  stands  in  fucIi  ambiguous  re- 
lations towards  the  Court;  especiallv  when  aware  of  my 
position  towards  you  and  ray  oflfieial  duty  in  the  pres- 
ent difficult  negotiations  with  the  Prince." 

" '  M.  de  Kirkconncl/  as  you  style  him,"  retorted 
Margaret,  with  great  spirit,  *'has  only  done  his  duty,  M. 
le  Vicomte,  as  'a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  honour,'  iu  ac- 
companying two  ladies  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  son 
of  their  King — whatever  may  be  his  relations  towards  a 
time-serving  government." 

'*  Tut,  tut,  Margaret  I"  broke  in  Lady  Jane,  "^  none  of 
your  hoity-toity  airs?  Gaston  is  perfectly  right.  I 
blame  myself  for  not  having  thought  of  his  position  in 
tlio  matter.  We'll  keep  ourselves  outside  these  delicate 
questions,  for  which  women  have  too  hot  heads,  until 
wiser  ones  settle  them,  one  way  or  another." 

That  Lady  Jane  was  much  displeased  wa  evidenced 
by  the  strenuous  effrrts  to  procure  me  a  captaincy  which 
she  put  on  loot  again  with  renewed  vigour,  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  1  was  not  sorry,  for  T  was  beginning  to  find  no 
little  embarrassment  in  Margaret's  unconscious  revela- 
tion  of  her  feelings  towards  me,  and  I  was  heartily  sorry 
for  the  Vicomte  as  well. 

IS'othing  came  of  Lady  Jane's  efforts,  and  now  we  all 
began  to  live  a  life  of  much  discomfort.  That  the  Vi- 
comte disliked  me  was  patent,  ami  yet  he  wouM  make  no 
effective  efforts  to  better  his  own  position  with  Margaret ; 
that  Lady  Jane  was  troubled  at  my  presence  was  writ 
large  on  her  expressive  countenance,  and  yet  she  could 
not  bear  me  to  leave  unless  fittingly  provided  ;  and  that 
Margaret,  our  Pearl  of  Great  Price,  was  as  cold  to  the 
Vicomte  as  she  was  affectionate  to  mv.  I  could  not  doubt 

09 


■A' 


mpm* 


mmmmmmmmm 


THE    SJ^AN    O'    LIFE 


,  I 


greatly,  and  all  this  to  onr  common  disquiet.  The  Vi- 
comto  sighed  for  possession,  Lady  Jane  for  the  fulfilment 
of  her  plans,  and  I  for  the  end  of  a  situation  that  had 
become  wellnigh  impossible. 

At  length  the  explosion  came. 

It  was  an  open  secret  that  the  Prince  would  be  removed 
by  force,  as  he  had  obstinately  refused  to  listen  to  either 
proposals,  entreaties,  or  commands,  and  in  short  was 
courting  disgrace,  for  IleaA'^cn  only  knows  Avhat,  unless 
perchance  he  hoped  to  rise  only  by  his  failures  and  re- 
verses. At  all  events,  preparations  were  made  without 
concealment  for  his  arrest  on  the  evening  of  the  10th  of 
December,  as  he  drove  to  the  Opera,  and  the  Vicomte, 
from  his  position  in  the  Household  Troops,  had  charge  of 
the  arrangements. 

Margaret  had  heard  the  rumour  that  very  day,  and  had 
sent  the  Vicomte  peremptory  word  to  come  to  the  rue 
Dauphine  ;  but  no  doubt  it  was  his  duties,  certainly  not 
any  hesitation  at  facing  the  interview,  which  prevented 
his  complying  with  her  command. 

The  next  day,  when  he  presented  himself,  the  news  of 
the  arrest  was  all  over  Paris,  with  every  absurd  exaggera- 
tion of  detail. 

He  entered  admirably  composed,  though  knowing  a 
painful  scene  was  before  him,  and  after  saluting  Lady 
Jane,  he  advanced  towards  Margaret,  holding  out  Iiis  hand. 

She  stood  erect,  her  face  white  with  emotion. 

"One  moment,  M.  le  Vicomte,  until  1  see  whether  I 
can  touch  that  hand  again  or  not.  Is  it  true  that  it  was 
laid  on  my  Prince  ?" 

"No,  mademoiselle,  it  was  not." 

"  Who,  then,  arrested  him  ?" 

*'  M.  de  Vaudreuil,  mademoiselle." 

"  And  you  ?    What  did  you  do  r"" 

*'I  stood  there,  mademoiselle,  and  saw  that  M.  de 
Vaudreuil  carried  out  his  instructions." 

60 


KomiMsg^im^ie^^eii. 


i.;»l 


SUK   STOOD   KHECT,   IIKJl   PACK   WHITK   WITH    KMOTION 


h< 


I    TAKE    A    GREAT    RESOLVE 


*'  His  instrnotions  ?     Who  ^ave  them  ?" 

**I  did,  mademoiselle." 

''  What !     To  arrest  the  Prince  ?" 

** Certainly,  mademoiselle." 

"  And  you  think  this  v/  s  the  part  of  'a  gentleman  and 
a  man  of  honour  ?'" " 

"Certainly,  mademoiselle.     It  wa.i  my  duty." 

I  own  that  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  I  admired 
him.  It  was  clear  what  was  coming,  yet  he  never  falter- 
ed, never  wavered,  nor  made  any  attempt  at  appeal  or 
explanation.     It  was  like  the  man.     I  envied  him  his 


courage. 


"  Did  you  never  think  for  one  moment  of  me  ?  Of  my 
devotion  to  him  and  his  cause  ?  Did  not  my  regard,  my 
affection  even,  weigh  for  one  moment  with  you  ?"  she 
went  on,  excitedly. 

**  Marguerite,  Marguerite  I  This  is  cruel !  This  is 
unjust  I  I  worship  you  as  I  have  never  worshipped 
■woman,  and  at  this  moment  you  are  breaking  my  heart  I" 

"  You  have  broken  mine,"  she  answered,  coldly,  and 
turning,  walked  slowly  out  of  the  room. 

He  stood  with  his  face  like  marble. 

Then  Lady  Jane  rose,  and  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  said:  "Gaston,  I  never  thought  more  of  you 
in  my  life,  and  the  mother  who  bore  you  may  well  be 
proud  of  such  a  son.  Margaret  is  but  a  child  ;  whci.'  she 
thinks  over  what  has  happened,  she  will  see  matters  in 
their  true  light.  Girls'  hearts  do  not  break  so  easily. 
My  own  would  have  flown  in  pieces  a  thousand  times  if 
it  had  followed  my  imaginations,"  she  said,  gayly  ;  and 
then  more  tenderly,  "Be  patient  with  her,  Gaston;  she 
is  only  a  child." 

But  he  shook  his  head  sadly  without  reply. 

"  My  deal  Vicomto."  I  said,  "I  know  you  have  cause 
to  look  on  me  with  no  friendly  eye  ;  but  believe  me,  I  can 
echo  every  word  my  cousin  lias  spoken.     I  can  only  ad- 

Gl 


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■i ", 


' 


m\ 


f! 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

mire  and  hope  for  such  conrage  myself  ;  and  that  I  may 
prove  the  sincerity  of  my  profession,  I  will  withdraw  en- 
tirely from  a  scene  where  I  am  only  a  disturbance.  I 
have  no  thought,  no  hope  of  winning  Margaret  for  my- 
self. I  will  volunteer  for  service  in  Canada  at  once,  and 
at  least  shall  not  have  the  regret  of  standing  in  the  way 
of  one  I  honour  so  highly." 

To  all  of  which  he  said  little,  but  that  little  so  direct 
and  feeling  that  we  stepped  out  into  the  rue  Dauphiue 
together,  more  nearly  friends  than  we  had  ever  been. 

6a 


CHAPTER  VIII 

HOW  I   MAKE   BOTH   FRIENDS   AND   ENEMIES  IN" 
NEW   FRANCE 

My  resolution  was  immediate,  but  it  was  a  different 
matter  carrying  it  into  elfect.  After  many  api)licatious, 
and  even  entreaties,  the  most  favourable  opening  I  could 
obtain  was  the  offer  of  an  ensign's  commission.  It  was 
almost  beyond  even  my  self-abnegation  to  accept  such 
degradation.  Only  by  the  thought  of  Margaret,  and  the 
consoling  comfort  that  I  was  malting  the  sacrifice  entire- 
ly for  her  sake,  joined  with  the  absolute  promise  of  the 
minister  that  I  should  not  long  remain  in  such  a  subor- 
dinate position,  could  I  bring  myself  to  the  point  of  ac- 
ceptance. 

Meantime  the  Vicomte  had  not  in  any  degree  taken  a 
proper  advantage  of  my  disinterestedness  ;  for,  instead  of 
winning  back  the  affections  of  his  adored  one  by  direct 
and  oft-repeated  attack,  he  withdrew  himself  entirely 
from  her  company,  and  plunged  into  a  course  of  the  most 
reckless  dissipation,  making  Paris  ring  with  the  tales  of 
his  extravagance  and  folly.  Then  suddenly,  to  every 
one's  astDnishmont,  he  threw  up  his  commission,  and 
disappeared  so  etfectually,  that  not  even  hid  intimates 
knew  what  had  come  to  him.  Those  at  the  rue  Dauphine 
were  as  ignorant  as  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  though  his 
withdrawal  was  unquestionably  a  relief  to  Margaret,  it  was 
a  source  of  deep  moititication  and  sorrow  to  Lady  Jane. 
However,  neither  letters  nor  inquiries  were  of  any  avail, 
and  the  most  rigorous  search  only  elicited  the  fact  that  no 


^      if 


I  El 


1  M 


fT: 


vs     K 


r| 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

one  knew  what  had  become  of  tlie  Vicomte  Gaston  de 
Trincardel,  beyond  that  he  had  voluntarily  disappeared 
without  any  adequate  motive  being  assigned. 

At  length  the  time  came  for  me  to  embark  for  my  mis- 
erable command. 

Margaret  made  but  little  elTort  to  conceal  her  grief. 
''  It  is  dreadful,  dreadful,  this  parting  I"  she  cried.  *'One 
after  another  I  am  losing  those  to  wlioni  I  am  most  at- 
tached— first  my  brother,  then  Gaston,  and  now  you.  I 
am,  indeed,  ^a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,'  and  if  aught 
happens  to  Lady  Jane,  think  Avhat  will  become  of  me  ? 
But  I  am  not  thinking  of  myself  alo.'O,"  she  added, 
quickly.  "  Believe  me,  my  greatest  sorrow  is  that  you, 
who  have  sacrificed  so  much  for  your  loyalty,  who  have 
met  with  such  reverses,  such  pitiful  ill  return  for  all 
your  devotion  to  your  King,  are  now  doomed  to  an  exile 
worse  than  before — to  the  acceptance  of  a  rank  tliat  is  an 
insult  to  your  condition,  to  banishment  in  a  savage  coun- 
try far  from  all  those  you  love  —  and  you  accept  it  all 
without  a  murmur.  Now  I  know,  for  you  have  taught 
me,  the  definition  of  'a  gentleman  and  a  man  of 
honour.'" 

With  this  recognition,  so  worthy  of  her  generous  nat- 
ure, she  looked  at  me  so  proudly  that  I  would  have  given 
any  tiling  to  kneel  at  her  feet  and  confess  it  was  only 
the  fact  of  being  "a  gentlemau  and  a  man  of  honour" 
which  prevented  me  answering  the  love  that  glowed  from 
every  feature  of  her  sweet  face  and  throbbed  in  every 
pulse  of  her  ardeut  young  body  with  the  burning  words 
that  trembled  on  my  sealed  lips. 

*'  Oil,  Margaret,  sweet  Miu'g.u'et  I  I  cannot  say  what  I 
would.  I  dare  hardly  think  what  I  would.  Everything 
is  against  me  !" 

**  Not  everything,"  she  answered,  quickly — •'  not  every- 
thing, unless  I  am  nothing  I     I  am  with  you  heart  and 


I 


I    MAKE    FRIENDS    AND    ENEMIES 


soul  !  No,  you  cannot  spoak,  because  you  have  no  posi- 
tion, and  perhaps  no  future.  But  I  can  !  Oil,  lliij^h, 
IIu:^h  !  I  care  notliini?  about  it  bei-ng  unmaidcnly  ;  I 
caiuiot  mind  sucli  matters  wlien  my  lieart  is  breaking.  I 
love  you  with  all  my  soul  and  with  all  my  life.  I  will  think 
of  you  every  horr  you  are  away  fro  \  me,  and  pray  for  you 
every  hour  until  God  brings  you  back.  Oh,  Hugh,  tell 
mo — tell  me  you  love  me  !" 

"No,  miss  I  Master  llughie  shall  do  nothing  of  the 
sort !"  interrupted  Lady  Jane,  who  had  come  in  un- 
marked. "Any  'iian  who  v/ishes  to  do  any  love-making, 
so  far  as  Marguret  Nairn  is  concerned,  must  first  do  so 
through  me. 

"  There,  there  !  Peggy,  my  pet — my  wee  girlie.  You 
may  kiss  him  once  for  your  poor  heart's  comfort ;  and 
then,  my  lambie,  leave  my  boy  to  me  ;  I  am  the  only 
mother  he  has.  There,  djarie,  go  now,"  she  said,  ten- 
derly, when  I  had  kissed  ]ier  as  one  miglit  kiss  a  saint . 
and  without  a  word  Margaret  left  the  room  with  my 
cousin,  and  it  and  my  heart  were  empty. 


Ill 


Lady  Jane  was  generous,  as  was  her  wont :  all  that 
money  could  do  to  make  my  departure  easy  was  done  ; 
and  most  of  all,  she  comforted  me  as  a  mother  might 
comfort  a  son — indeed,  as  she  had  said  to  Margaret,  she 
was  the  only  mother  I  had  ever  known. 

Again  she  told  me  plainly  that  I  must  not  ch.erisli  any 
hopes  upon  her  death  beyond  such  humble  provision  as 
she  might  spare.  "Margaret  is  my  daughter,  llughie; 
and  if  you  are  the  man  I  take  you  for,  you  would  not  de- 
prive her  of  whatever  money  may  bring." 

"Cousin,"  said  I,  "I  am  going  away  for  her  sake,  for 
her  peace  of  mind  alone ;  and  if  I  am  content  to  bury 
myself  alive  for  this  now,  think  you  I'll  regret  any  other 
good  that  can  come  to  her  ?  I  love  her  with  my  whole 
heart  and  soul,  and  the  greatest  bitterness  I  have  to  bear 
E  65 


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THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


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is  that  T  am  prevented  from  declaring  my  feelings  towards 
her  before  I  go.  She  lias  spoken  words  to  mo  that  call 
for  all  the  response  in  a  man's  soul,  and  I  go  away  with 
my  mouth  closed  like  a  clown." 

"  Tut,  tut,  Hughie  !  Now  you  are  letting  your  vanity 
get  the  upperhand  of  you.  You  are  bemoaning  your- 
self because  you  have  not  cut  a  better  figure  in  her  eyes. 
But  Just  one  word  for  your  cold  comfort.  There  never 
was  a  young  girl  in  her  position  yet — bless  all  their  love- 
ly, trusting  hearts — who  would  not  make  a  hero  of  tlie 
man  she  loved,  had  he  the  garb  of  a  Merry  Andrew  and 
the  manners  of  a  Calmuck.  Don't  fash  yourself  over 
imaginary  woes  when  you've  real  ones  in  sight,  plain 
enough,  my  poor  boy.  But  now  leave  this  profitless 
heart-break  and  let  us  plan  for  the  future." 

Our  talk  lasted  late  into  the  night,  and  by  daybreak  I 
was  on  my  way  to  La  Ilochelle. 

And  now  began  the  most  miserable  period  of  my  life, 
the  details  of  which  I  have  no  intention  of  inflicting  on 
my  reader.  A  wretched  sea-voyage  was  a  fitting  intro- 
duction to  my  place  of  banishment — Louisbourg,  a  pre- 
tentious and  costly  fortification,  but  miserably  situate 
and  falling  to  decay  for  want  of  the  most  necessary  re- 
pair. There  it  Avas,  shut  in  on  the  one  hand  by  the 
monotonous  sea,  wild  and  threatening  with  its  ice,  and 
snow,  and  storm  in  winter,  sad  and  depressing  with  its 
mournful  fog  in  summer — and  on  the  other  by  an  un- 
broken wilderness  of  rock  and  firs — that  I  ate  out  my 
heart  in  bitterness  year  after  year ;  my  only  alleviation 
being  the  rare  letters  which  I  received  from  Margaret, 
but  which  I  scarce  could  answer,  though  my  reticence 
only  brought  forth  a  fuller  expression  of  the  unwavering 
affection  of  her  generous  soul. 

Dear  as  this  indulgence  in  a  cherished  affection  was  to 
me,  I  brought  myself  to  renounce  it,  for  I  held  I  was 

66 


N  lA 


I    MAKE    FRIENDS    AND    ENEMIKS 


bound  to  thi-s  for  more  than  one  reason.  Now  that  I 
had  entirely  broken  with  my  past,  I  rccoj^nised  that  per- 
haps I  should  have  done  so  sooner.  Was  it  not  folly  to 
suppose  that  a  girl  such  as  Mai'garet  would  not  follow 
her  generous  fancy  when  propinquity  was  added  to  in- 
clination ?  Alas  !  that  such  admirable  decisions  are  only 
so  readily  consented  to  when  the  occasion  for  delinquency 
is  no  longer  possible  ! 

Then,  too,  my  position  towards  Lady  Jane  was  a  deli- 
cate one.  She  had  clearly  indicated  to  me  her  intentions 
as  to  the  disposal  of  her  fortune.  A  hopeful  or  even  a 
cont'^nted  correspondence  was  impossible  to  one  in  my 
situation,  and  to  enter  into  any  truthful  detail  of  the 
misery  of  my  surroundings  might  well  appear,  even  in 
her  kindly  judgment,  but  an  implied  appeal  to  her  gener- 
osity. 

For  this  it  was  that  I  gradually  cut  down  my  letters 
year  by  your,  until  I  entirely  ceased  from  all  intercourse, 
and  lived  my  lonely  life  as  best  I  might. 


W'} 


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m 


For  fellow-exiles,  I  had  near  an  hundred  discontented 
gentlemen,  ruling  over  a  homesick  soldiery,  two  or  three 
unfortunate  gentlewomen,  a  few  greedy  and  dishonest 
officials,  and  a  handful  of  wretched  townspeople,  whose 
prosperity  was  never  fostered  in  time  of  peace  nor  their 
safety  considered  in  time  of  war. 

At  last,  through  the  friendship  of  the  Comte  de  Rai- 
mond.  Governor  of  the  Island,  I  obtained  a  tardy  pro- 
motion to  the  rank  of  lieutenant  in  the  Regiment  of  Ar- 
tois,  under  M.  de  St.  Julhien,  and  the  appointment  as 
King's  Interpreter,  on  which  I  was  heartily  congratu- 
lated by  my  comrades,  who  had  long  pitied  my  unde- 
served ill  fortune. 

Until  then  I  had  made  but  little  effort  to  better  my 
condition,  but  my  advancement,  as  well  as  the  increase 
in  my  pay,  aroused  me.     I  took  fresh  heart  in  myself 

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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY    14580 

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and  my  appearance,  and  began   to   mix  somewhat  in 
such  society  as  our  forlorn  situation  allorded. 

In  Madame  de  Drucour,  wife  of  onr  Commandant,  I 
found  a  grande  dame  de  pur  le  monde,  who  command- 
ed the  admiration  and  respect  of  all  our  officers  and 
the  devotion  of  the  soldiery  and  townspeople. 

In  Madame  Prevost,  the  most  charming  little  Cana- 
dian, wife  of  the  Commissary — a  creature  with  the  car- 
riage of  a  lackey  and  the  soul  of  a  dry-salter — 1  discov- 
ered a  heart  full  of  tender  sympathy,  dying  of  ennui. 
Iler  husband's  unpopularity  was  such  that  but  few  of 
the  officers  would  enter  his  doors,  and  indeed  he  was 
80  fierce  a  Cerberus  in  regard  to  his  unfortunate  wife, 
that  he  made  any  attempt  at  alleviation  of  her  unhap- 
py condition  wellnigh  impossible.  However,  through 
my  acquaintance  with  a  M.  do  Sarenues,  a  Canadian 
partisan  officer,  who  stood  high  in  his  favour,  he  saw  fit 
to  allow  my  visits,  and  I  willingly  put  up  with  his  want 
of  breeding  to  ojffer  such  attention  as  I  might  to  his 
prisoner,  for  so  in  h'uth  she  was. 

Sarennes  was  attractive  enough,  in  so  far  as  his  outward 
appearance  went,  but,  like  most  of  his  countrymen — that 
is,  the  Canadians — was  wanting  in  all  those  externals 
which  are  essential  to  a  gentleman.  He  was  courageous, 
but  a  braggart ;  he  was  well  born,  but  had  no  breeding; 
he  was  open  and  friendly,  but,  I  feared,  truculent ;  and 
his  sense  of  honour  was  not  above  the  universal  dishonesty 
.  which  disgraced  and  wrecked  his  unfortunate  country. 

I  had  suspected  his  intimacy  with  Prevost  had  some 
less  honourable  foundation  than  a  pitying  admiration  for 
his  unfortunate  wife,  and  I  was  confirmed  in  this  by  his 
proposal  in  my  quarters  one  evening  that  I  should  hand 
over  to  him  some  blanks,  signed  by  St.  .lulhien.  on  the 
I'jmmissary,  for  stores,  etc.,  which  1  was  to  requisition 
.lb  required. 

"  May  I  ask  to  what  use  you  intend  to  put  them  ?"  I 

m 


I    MAKE    FRIENDS    AND    ENEMIES 


said,  more  to  sound  him  tluiii  for  iuformation,  for  this 
was  one  of  the  most  favoured  forms  of  peeui.ition  in  the 
colonies. 

"  Oh,  none  tliat  you  will  ever  k)\o\v  of.  Chevalier;  and 
I  should  think  an  addition  to  your  inadequate  i)ay  would 
not  come  amiss,''  he  added,  artfully,  without  even  an 
effort  to  veil  his  kiuivery. 

Tlie  whole  disgraceful,  pettifogging  scheme  disgusted 
me  ;  but,  because  he  was  a  much  younger  man  than  I,  and 
I  believed  migiit  be  in  Prt'vost's  power  I  refrained  from 
my  natural  indignation,  and  passing  over  the  personal 
affront,  I  spake  to  him  with  all  the  consideration  of  a 
friend.  I  shewed  him  the  path  wiiich  he  was  tread- 
ing, and  pointed  out  the  inevitable  disgrace  which  must 
attend  such  a  course,  and  most  of  all,  the  wretched 
meanness  of  so  contemptible  u  crime.  But,  to  my  as- 
tonishment, he  was  inclined  to  excuse  and  cloak  his 
wrong-doing. 

'*  Sir,"  said  I,  **  nothing  is  farther  from  my  liking  tha.i 
an  artificial  morality,  but  I  would  avoid  even  the  appear- 
ance of  being  cheaply  vicious.  Do  not  weigh  out  the 
largest  possible  measure  of  dishonesty  to  the  smallest  pos- 
sible quantum  of  correction.  If  you  must  depart  from 
that  path  of  virtue  towards  which  wo  should  all  direct 
our  best  endeavours,  do  so  in  a  numner  that  will  at  least 
command  the  admiration  of  gentlemen  and  the  leniency 
of  a  Divine  Being,  who  may  consider  the  frailty  of  the 
natural  man^  but  never  the  tortuous  conclusions  of  his 
compromising  intellect." 

lie  was  apparently  sensible  of  my  kindly  advice,  but  I 
soon  discovered  that  lu^  not  only  disregarded  it,  but  was 
endeavouring  to  do  me  an  ill  turn  with  the  Commissary  by 
directing  iiis  warped  and  jealous  suspicions  towards  my 
innocent  attentions  to  his  wife. 

The  word  "innocent"  1  use  advisedly,  and  lest  the 
reader  have  any  doubt  now  or  hereafter  as  to  my  inten- 

09 


r- 


,< 


( 


m 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

tion  touching  tlie  fair  Madame  Prevost,  let  me  assnre 
liirn  I  can  lay  my  hand  on  my  heart  and  aver  I  never  at 
any  time  liold  any  warmer  feeling  towards  her  than  the 
sympathy  of  an  exile  towards  a  prisoner. 

Tiiat  her  stupidly  jealous  husband,  fired  by  the  insinu- 
ations of  Sarennes,  should  distort  mere  civilities  into 
serious  intentions,  and  bear  liimself  with  such  a  ridic- 
ulous assumption  of  jaundiced  suspicion  that  a  cause  for 
his  uneasiness  was  readily  invented  by  a  scandal-loving 
garrison,  was  no  doing  of  mine.  iMadame  Prevost,  with 
all  her  charm,  had  neither  experience  nor  knowledge  in 
such  affairs;  she  was  simply  a  woman  profoundly  un- 
happy and  profoundly  ignorant  of  the  world.  Could  I 
have  honestlv  olTered  her  mv  alfections  as  well  as  my 
sympathies,  I  might  have  done  so,  and  had  them  as  hon- 
estly returned  ;  but  no  woman  had  ever  awakened  a  throb 
in  my  heart  since  I  hade  farewell  to  one  in  the  rue  Uau- 
phino  in  Paris.  She  still  remained  at  once  my  hoj)e  and 
my  despair  ;  and,  so  long  as  she  lived,  other  women  were 
as  dead  to  me.  1  lay  claim  to  no  great  fortitude,  to  no 
heroic  self-denial — it  is  seldom  a  man  has  attained  tho 
results  of  virtue  with  as  little  conscious  cllort  as  I  was 
called  upon  to  exercise. 

But  the  mci'c  knowledge  of  the  integrity  of  my  motives 
was  not  snilicient  to  protect  them  from  the  idle  gossip  of 
the  town,  and  this  inconvenience  led  to  an  abrupt  ter- 
mination of  our  intiTcourt-e  in  the  following  manner  : 

One  afternoon,  when  aniusinff  myself  and  Mme.  Pre- 
vost by  singing  snatehes  of  old  songs.  I  had  ended  a 
favourite  of  hers  with  a  telling  accompaniment  and  tho 
effective  words, 

".T'ai  perdu  inon  cfiMir  volage, 
Moil  lioiiiKMir,  iiioii  iiviiutago, 
De  luoi  ne  mc  ptirlo  plus,"  < 

when  I  was  surprised  by  a,  burst  of  pretended  applause, 

70 


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v. 


7 


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and  tiir 
air. 
"Bel 

sympati 
"Up( 
"Upc 

honour. 

*'  Par 

the  verf 

prose." 

*'Ido 

*^  You 

or  the  ol 

*'  Poss 

judge  of 

'  in  plain 

no  longe 

*'M.  1 

your  mar 

regret  m; 

returned, 

ling  of  til 

''  Madf 

admirable 

"  I  owe  y 

thousand 

standing  1 

raised  her 

;i  not  und 

So   the 
afternoon 
I  wandere 
of  a  ship  f 
blockade  c 
the  captaii 


* , 


I    MAKE    FlilENDS    AND    ENEMIES 

and  turned  to  find  M.  Prdvost  facing  me  with  a  malicious 
air. 

"Believe  me,  M.  lo  Lieutenant,  you  have  my  sincerest 
sympathy,"  he  cried,  with  mock  emphasis. 

**  Upon  what,  sir  ?" 

**Upon  the  loss  of  that  inestimable  jewel,  your 
honour." 

**  Pardon  mo,  monsieur  ;  that  is  merely  the  license  of 
the  verse  —  a  dangerous  thing  to  translate  into  plain 
prose." 

**  I  do  not  seize  the  distinction,  monsieur." 

"  You  are  probably  not  qualified  to  judge  of  either  one 
or  the  other,  M.  Pruvost." 

"  Possibly  not,  M.  le  Lieutenant,  but  I  am  qualified  to 
judge  of  the  persons  I  will  jidniit  within  my  doors  ;  and, 
*  in  plain  prose,'  I  would  wish  you  to  understand  you  are 
no  longer  one  of  them." 

**M.  lo  Commissaire,  your  meaning  is  as  plain  as  is 
your  manner  ;  nothing  could  be  more  unqnalificd,  and  I 
regret  my  inability  to  answer  it  in  the  same  fashion,"  I 
returned,  not  without  a  certain  appreciation  of  his  hand- 
ling of  the  situation. 

**  Madame,"  I  said  to  his  lady,  who  had  preserved  an 
admirable  composure  throughout  this  passage  at  arms, 
**  I  owe  you  a  thousand  thanks  for  your  kindness,  and  a 
thousand  regrets  should  I  be  the  cause  of  any  misunder- 
standing between  yon  and  your  husband  ;"  whereupon  I 
raised  hor  hand,  and  kissing  it  ceremoniously,  I  etrected 
;i  not  nndiiinificd  retreat. 


So  the  summer  of  '57  dragged  on,  when  one  warm 
afternoon  in  Soptcmbor — it  was  the  '^'oth  of  the  month — 
I  wandered  down  to  the  landing-place  to  see  the  arrival 
of  a  ship  from  France  that  luul  slipped  through  the  feeble 
blockade  attempted  by  the  English.  I  lazily  watched 
the  captain  and  others  disembark  with  an  uninterested 

71 


TIIK    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

eye  nntil  among  them  I  caught  sight  of  a  lad  of  about 
fifteen  years,  wliose  dress  and  (.'ountenance  were  certainly 
English.  As  he  came  up  with  the  others  I  advanced, 
and  laying  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  said, 

**  You  are  not  French,  my  lad  ?" 

*'  Oh  no,  sir,"  he  answered,  looking  full  at  me  with  an 
open,  engaging  smile  ;  **  I  am  English." 

"  I  thought  so.     What  is  your  name  ?" 

«*  Christoi)iier  Uouth." 

"  Good  God  !  Kit !    I  am  Captain  Geraldinc  1" 

73 


la: 


kH 


1i 


li  ' 


CHAPTER  IX 

"JOY  AND  SORROW   ARE   XEXT-DOOR  NEIGHBOURS" 

As  I  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  asking  favours  of  my 
superiors,  permission  was  readily  given  that  the  English 
lad  should  be  allowed  to  share  my  quarters  with  me. 

I  set  my  servant  to  work  arranging  for  his  comfort, 
and  we  sate  in  my  little  garden,  I  dying  with  curiosity  to 
hear  what  lucky  chance  had  blown  him  hither. 

**  Where  is  your  mother.  Kit  ?"  I  asked. 

At  this  his  eyes  filled  and  his  lips  trembled,  and  for 
some  moments  he  could  not  reply,  during  which  I  was 
unable  to  suppress  a  selfish  hope  that  perchance  my  time 
of  probation  had  ended. 

**  Mother  is  lost,"  he  answered,  at  last.  *'  But  let  me 
start  fair."  I  was  pleased  to  mark  the  boy  spake  with 
an  easy  address,  for  I  hate  the  taint  of  servility  above  all 
things.  '*  Ever  since  I  had  grown  up  I  have  been  beg- 
ging her  to  let  me  get  to  sea,  and  at  length  she  yielded, 
in  part  to  my  entreaties,  and  in  part  to  the  wishes  of 
some  members  of  The  Society  who  had  settled  in  Boston, 
in  the  Province  of  Massachusetts,  and  agreed  to  come  out 
to  them.  For  me,  anything  answered  that  would  give 
me  my  wish,  and  I  did  not  see  that  it  mattered  whether 
she  was  among  Methodists  in  England,  or  among  Method- 
ists in  America." 

"  You  are  right,  my  lad ;  I  imagine  they  would  make 
the  world  much  of  a  likeness  wherever  they  might  be." 

He  answered  nothing  to  my  observation,  but  went  on: 

"  At  length  all  our  prepar.itions  were  complete,  and  we 

fit  J 

to 


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THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


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left  in  June  last  in  a  wretched  old  craft,  called  the  Afri- 
can Chief,  so  ill  found  that  she  was  dismasted  and  dis- 
abled in  the  first  f]fale  we  met  with. 

•'  Wc  were  raptured,  or  rather  rescued,  three  days  later 
by  this  very  ship  I  have  just  come  in,  and  the  hulk  was 
rerigged  and  sent  back  to  France  a  prize,  with  her  unfort- 
unate crew  and  passengers  as  j)risoner8.  From  this  fate 
my  mother  and  I  were  preserved  through  the  kindness  of 
a  French  lady,  who  took  compassion  on  mother  as  the 
only  woman  on  board,  and  offered  to  take  her  as  her  wait- 
ing-woman, and  I  was  allowed  to  accompany  her.  Any- 
thing was  better  than  the  certainty  of  a  prison  in 
France. " 

"  What  was  the  lady's  name,  Kit  ?     I  may  know  her." 

**'Pon  my  word,  sir,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  don't  know 
myself.  There  were  no  others  of  her  condition  on  board, 
and  she  was  addressed  by  every  one  simply  as  '  Madame/ 
and  I  never  thought  of  asking  my  mother." 

**  Never  mind  ;  go  on." 

"We  were  treated  with  every  kindness,  and  Madame 
showed  every  conceivable  consideration  for  my  jmor 
mother,  while  I  made  friends  with  all  on  board,  and  soon 
learned  enough  French  to  find  my  way  about  ship. 
Madame  and  my  poor  mother  found  the  length  of  the 
voyage  tedious  to  a  degree,  but  I  loved  every  hour  of  it. 
We  unfortunately  ran  short  of  water,  as  our  casks  had  so 
strained  during  a  heavy  gale  we  encountered  they  lost  all 
or  most  of  their  contents.  Hesides  this  mischief,  the 
gale  drove  us  so  far  out  of  our  course  to  the  north,  that 
our  captain  determined  to  run  into  the  Baie  des  Chaleurs 
for  a  fresh  supply  of  water. 

"This  we  did,  aiul  there  found  it  in  abundance  ;  and 
after  the  boats  had  begun  to  pass  backward  and  forward, 
and  we  were  convinced  there  was  no  danger,  ^[adame 
and  mother  were  allowed  to  have  their  wish  and  leave  the 

ship  for  a  ramble  on  shore.     At  first  they  stayed  within 

74 


fr 


"JOY    AND    SOKKOW    ARE    NEIGlIBOUIiS" 


sight,  but  gniduiilly  giiinin<?  courage,  thoy  strayed  away 
unnoticed  by  any  of  ujj  for  some  time.  When  they  were 
luisaed,  an  instant  search  was  nuide,  and  we  started 
througii  the  woods  hallooing  and  firing  our  pieces,  but 
witiiout  result ;  at  length  some  of  the  sailors,  who  hud 
been  in  those  parts  before,  discovered  a  place  where  they 
said  Indians  had  lately  camped.  Wo  soon  found  further 
traces  that  confirmed  this,  and  at  last  a  small  g'Aiy  tippet 
which  I  knew  to  be  mother's,  and  we  were  no  longer  in 
doubt. 

*'  I  was  wild  to  keep  at  the  search,  but  the  others 
persuaded  me  it  was  useless  to  do  so,  that  these  sav- 
ages wandered  over  the  whole  country,  and  would  cer- 
tainly carry  their  prisoners  to  some  post  where  they 
would  claim  a  reward,  especially  if  they  thought  they 
were  English,  which  might  well  be  the  case  ;  aiul  in  any 
event  there  was  no  danger  of  their  lives,  as  these  savages 
never  illtreat  white  women,  except  in  attack.  Anxionis 
as  I  was,  I  could  not  but  agree  that  they  were  right,  and 
so  said  no  more  ;  but  now  I  am  content  to  remain  here, 
as  I  have  a  better  chance  of  hearing  news  than  if  ex- 
changed for  some  French  prisoner,  as  we  were  hoping 
all  the  way  out." 

Although  I  had  not  the  same  confidence  as  the  boy,  I 
encouraged  him  in  his  hopefulness,  ami  in  turn  told  him 
of  my  own  doings  since  I  had  left  their  roof  in  London. 


n 


My  whole  existence  now  took  on  a  different  aspect ; 
my  duties  were  in  no  degree  onerous  ;  and  Kit,  the  dear 
boy,  80  won  every  heart  that  he  was  looked  u})on  as  a 
guest  of  the  whole  garrison,  rather  than  a  prisoner.  No 
restrictions  were  placed  upon  his  movements,  and  we 
roamed  over  the  whole  country  with  our  fowling-pieces 
or  angles,  and  many  a  lino  string  of  trout  did  we  present 
to  Madame  de  Drucour  and  other  friends. 

We  explored  the  country  from  Louisbourg  to  Mire,  and 

75 


f! 


\l 


) 


f  i 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

there  we  fell  in  with  Sardines  and  his  following,  with 
whom  Kit  was  delighted  beyond  measure  ;  and  indeed 
there  was  much  in  the  Canadian  to  attract  those  who  did 
not  look  beyond  the  externals.  lie  fairly  enchanted  the 
boy  with  his  tales  of  savage  life,  his  exhibition  of  his  wild 
followers,  and  his  skill  in  woodcraft  and  the  chase,  and  I 
soon  felt  that  Kit  was  revolving  some  plan  for  discover- 
ing the  whereabouts  of  his  mother  through  his  aid. 

This  was  the  one  flaw  in  my  happiness.  If  I  had  not 
wished  for  her  death,  I  had  at  least  hoped  never  to  hear  of 
her  again,  and  indeed  there  seemed  but  little  likelihood 
of  it  in  this  remote  quarter,  but  every  inquiry  on  the 
part  of  Kit  gave  me  fresh  uneasiness.  This  he  was  quick 
to  perceive,  but  as  I  had  never  given  him  an  inkling  of 
the  reason,  he  put  my  holding  to  him  down  to  the  liking 
of  a  solitary  exile  for  one  of  his  own  kind. 

Sarennes,  too,  saw  my  fondness  for  the  lad,  and  took  a 
pleasure  in  attracting  him  from  me  on  every  possible  ex- 
cuse ;  but  it  was  not  until  a  dinner  given  by  M.  de  Dru- 
cour  at  the  New  Year  that  I  saw  how  far  his  petty  cruel- 
ty could  go. 

With  an  air  of  assumed  geniality  he  said  to  the  Com- 
mandant :  "  M.  de  Drucour,  before  I  start  on  my  expe- 
dition to-morrow,  I  am  tempted  to  ask  for  a  volunteer 
in  the  English  lad  Christopher.  He  is  anxious  to  go, 
and  I  shall  be  pleased  to  have  him." 

"  But,  monsieur,  you  can  hardly  have  him  without 
me,  for  I  am  responsible  to  M.  de  Drucour  for  his  safe- 
keeping," I  broke  in,  with  a  chilling  fear  at  my  heart 
that  my  one  treasure  in  the  world  would  be  imperilled 
in  such  treacherous  hands. 

*' M.  de  Maxwell  seems  over -fond  of  this  prisoner," 
sneered  M.  Prevost,  who  was  an  unwelcome  guest,  but 
could  not  well  be  left  out  on  an  official  occasion.  "A 
too-lenient  jailer  may  be  even  more  dangerous  than  his 
prisoner  at  times,"  he  went  on  ;  and  I  saw  that  farther 

76 


"JOY    A\D    SORROW    ARE    X  EIG  II  BO  J  US" 

discussion  might  only  prec;ipitate  iiuitters,  when  I  stood 
ill  so  delicate  a  position  ;  for  ii  soldier  in  foreign  service, 
no  mutter  what  his  merit,  is  ever  a  ready  object  of  sus- 
picion. 

However,  M.  do  Driicour  turned  matters  by  address- 
ing me  in  his  usual  courteous  and  friendly  manner : 
*'  With  these  rumours  of  war  in  the  spring,  have  you  had 
no  inspiration  for  your  Muse,  Chevalier  ?'* 

*'l  have  a  song,  if  you  will  not  hold  the  end  a  reflec- 
tion on  our  surroundings,"!  replied.  "  However,  remem- 
ber that  it  is  not  I,  but  my  sword,  that  sings,  and,  I  am 
afraid,  only  strikes  a  note  common  to  us  all." 

1  regret  I  cannot  give  the  graceful  French  couplets 
into  which  Madame  de  Hrucour  had  obligingly  turned 
my  verses,  and  so  cleverly  preserved  all  the  tire  and 
strength  of  my  original,  which  must  now  serve  as  it  was 
written. 

"In  Spanish  hands  I've  bent  and  swung 

With  Spanish  grace  and  skill  ; 
I've  scoured  Lepunto  of  liie  Turk, 

And  Spain  of  Boabdil  ; 
I've  clanged  througliout  tiie  Low  Countrie ; 

I've  held  the  Spanish  Main  ; — 
Ferrara  made  and  fashioned  me, 

In  Cordova,  in  Spain. 

"In  Scottish  liands  I've  saved  the  pride 

That  else  had  starved  at  home, 
When  under  Bourbon's  banner  wide 

We  swept  through  Holy  Home ; 
In  private  tight  I've  cleared  the  slight 

That  Beauty's  brow  would  stain ; — 
Ferrara  made  and  fashioned  me, 

In  Cordova,  in  Spain. 


"At  Killiecrankie  with  Dundee 

I've  struck  for  James  tiie  King ; 
The  blood-red  waters  of  the  Boyne 
Have  heard  my  metal  ring  ; 
77 


THE    SPAM    O'    LIFE 

Again  with  Mar  at  Sberri£f-muir 
I've  raised  the  olden  strain; — 

Fernira  made  and  fashioned  me. 
In  Cordova,  in  Spain. 

"Along  the  line  at  Fontenoy 

I've  flushed  in  wild  parade, 
When  on  the  I'jnglish  columns  fell 

The  strength  of  Clare's  Brigade ; 
I've  stood  for  Bonnie  Charles  until 

Culloden's  fatal  plain; — 
Fcrrara  made  and  fashioned  me, 

In  Cordova,  in  Spain. 


>s) 


"  But  now  in  exiled  hands  I  rust 
Beside  the  salt  sea's  marge. 
And  though  I  dream  of  trumpet  call. 

Of  rally,  and  of  charge, 
Of  screaming  flfe,  and  throbbing  drum, 

As  troops  defile  in  train, — 
I  wake  to  hear  the  wailing  moan 
Of  the  imprisoning  Main — 
Dead  is  all  Glory ! 
Dead  all  Fame  ! 
Will  never  sound  that  song  again — 
That  great,  world-wakening  refrain  ? — 
Fernira  made  and  fashioned  me, 
In  Cordova,  in  Spain." 

There  was  a  spontaneons  outburst  of  applause  as  I 
pnded,  for  I  had  seldom  made  a  better  effort,  aud  my 
closing  lines  but  echoed  a  sentiment  common  to  us  all 
— that  is,  of  all  of  us  who  were  soldiers.  Such  a  creature 
as  Provost  could  never  have  a  generous  impulse  stir  the 
weighing-machine  which  served  him  in  lieu  of  a  soul ; 
and  Sarennes  wae  spoiled  for  nobler  aims  by  the  debas- 
ing influence  of  la  petite  guerre,  dear  to  all  Canadians. 
So  M.  Prevost  saw  fit  to  refrain  from  all  applause ;  and 
Sarennes,  foolish  boy,  for  boy  he  was,  in  spite  of  his 
thirty  years,  was  ill-bred  enough  to  follow  his  example. 

78 


»'JOY    AND    SORROW    ARE    NEIGHBOURS" 


f 


6 


**  M.  Provost,  surely  you  are  over-critical  when  you  do 
not  applaudj"  said  M.  de  St.  Julliien,  baiitcringly.  *'  Re- 
member we  are  not  in  the  rue  St.  llonore,  though  I 
would  trust  this  voice  even  there."' 

"  You  have  more  faith  in  that,  then,  than  he  has  in 
his  sword.  lie  puts  it  in  Spanish  and  Scotch  hands. 
AVhy  not  in  French  ?"  snapped  out  the  little  centipede, 
virulently. 

**  Possibly  there  are  some  French  hands  in  which  he 
would  not  trust  it,"  retorted  M.  do  Julhien,  to  our  great 
delight. 

''  Do  your  words  bear  that  construction  ?"  asked  the 
nettled  Commissary,  turning  on  mo. 

''Possibly,  too,  M.  de  Maxwell  may  think  it  is  not  to 
be  trusted  in  some  Canadian  hands,"  broke  in  Sareunes, 
with  a  hectoring  air. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  I  returned,  "you  are  coming  too 
fast  with  your  questions.  As  for  you,  M.  de  Sarennes, 
I  once  offered  you  some  good  advice  which  you  did  not 
see  fit  to  follow,  and  now,  even  at  the  risk  of  having  it 
similarly  disregarded,  I  will  prollor  more;  which  is,  not 
to  expose  yourself  to  punishment  for  tho  impertinences 
of  others.  As  for  your  question,  when  I  have  had  some 
more  satisfactory  experience  of  Canadians,  I  shall  know 
bettor  how  to  answer  it." 

"  And  has  not  your  experience  of  me  been  satisfactory, 
monsieur?"  said  ho,  pluming  up  again. 

"You  are  perfectly  qualiiiod  to  answer  tliat  question 
yourself,"  I  replied,  looking  "bhuik  requisitions"  at  him 
BO  pointedly  that  he  simi)ly  reddonod  to  the  roots  of  his 
black  hair  and  held  his  tongue,  to  the  anuizomont  of  all 
who  had  hoped  for  some  further  amusement. 

"As  for  your  question,  M.  Provost,"  I  continued, 
rounding  on  him,  "I  made  no  reflection  on  Frenchmen 
in  general.  They  are  my  comrades,  my  brothers-in- 
arms !"   I   said,  playing   to   the   com[)aiiy  at   large,  by 

79 


rii 


<•' 


fO^ 


V 


lu 


n 


It « 


TllK    SPAN    <)'    LIKK 

whom  my  sonlimoiit  wus  j^iccU'il  with  a  hurst,  of  appliiuso. 
'*  As  to  Fit'Mchmon  in  particuhir,  I  liavc  known  Home 
who  wiM'o  so  (lauijcrous  with  the  poii  that  I  woiihl  imh'ifd 
hi'sitato  to  trust  thom  with  the  swortl."  Now,  as  Pn'vost 
was  hatoil  and  dreadod  for  iiothin<jf  more  than  liis  lyii>K 
ronorts  to  tho  Minister  at  homo,  and  us  no  man  in  any 
])osition  at  the  tahlo  had  escaped  his  venom,  my  sally 
was  a_i!;ain  j^reeted  not  only  with  a])plause,  but  also  with 
a  roar  of  stentorian  lauijhtor. 

The  whole  atTair  eiuled  in  nothing  more  serious  than 
the  hot  words  and  laughter,  for  Sarennes,  thouj^di  a  brajj^- 
jiart,  was  not  evil-tempered,  at  least  towards  me.  Vov 
IMevost  I  eared  not  a  maravedi,  and  would  have  spitted 
him  liked  a  smoked  herrin<j^  at  any  time  with  the  jj^reat- 
cst  pleasure.  My  ehief  disap})()intn»ent  was  that  I  had 
not  succeeded  in  my  attempt  to  obtain  a  refusal  of  Sa- 
reniies's  re(piest  for  Kit's  company,  an  attempt  I  dared 
not  renew,  and  was  forced  to  give  a  reluctant  consent 
when  it  was  referred  to  me. 

My  heart  was  bijj;  with  forebodinj:^  the  last  evening  we 
spent  together,  ami  it  roipiired  an  elTort  almost  beyonil 
my  powers  to  refrain  from  taking  him  into  my  arms  and 
telling  him  ho  was  my  son.  I  almost  persuaded  myself 
that  my  life  was  so  wretched,  so  lonely,  so  hopeless,  that 
I  would  be  justified  in  so  doing.  Hut  for  some  reason 
or  other  I  did  not,  why,  I  cannot  pretend  to  say,  and  I 
saw  him  march  proudly  oit  at  daybreak  the  next  morn- 
ing with  my  secret  still  untold.  I  wondered  if  any  one 
would  be  equally  faithful  to  mc. 

Such  a  weary  month  of  January  I  never  passed,  for  no 
one  know  tho  danger  of  these  miserable,  skulking  little 
war  parties  bettor  than  I ;  and  to  add  to  this  there  was 
my  distrust  of  Sarennes  eating  at  my  heart  every  time  I 
tried  to  make  little  of  my  fears. 

What  wonder  was  it,  when  the  door  of  my  room  opened 

80 


•♦JOY    AND    SOUKOW    ARE    NKIOIinOURS" 


lifter  a  quiet  knock,  one  .stormy  after  lOon,  and  the  dark 
face  of  the  ('anadian  appeartMl,  that  I  sprang  to  my  feet 
and  demaiKh'd,  savaj^ely  :  "  Where  is  he  ?  What  have 
you  done  with  him  ?" 

"lie  \M*«  taken,"  he  answered,  quietly,  "and  I  am 
hero  to  answer  for  him." 

There  was  such  a  dignity  in  liis  bearing,  sucli  a  sensi- 
bility in  liis  look,  that  1  was  melted  at  once,  and  my 
murderous  suspicion  put  to  llight. 

"A  thousand  pardons,  monsieur,  for  my  rudeness.  I 
have  been  anxious  day  and  niglit  for  the  boy.  'J'ell  nie 
what  has  iiappeiicd." 

lie  told  th(!  story  simply,  and  I  could  not  doubt  that 
ho  told  it  truly.  It  was  the  ordiiuiry  incident,  common 
to  these  wretched  marauding  parties,  an  attempted  sur- 
prise, a  cou})lo  of  men  lost,  my  poor  boy  wounded  and 
captured  before  the  bailled  coureurs  do  bois  could  at- 
tcjiijit  a  rescue. 

When  Sarennes  left  me  with  some  words  of  sympathy, 
1  was  sulTering  only  what  hundreds  of  fathers  have  suf- 
fered before  me.  That  it  was  common  was  uo  alleviation 
to  my  pain. 

F  81 


t 


It  il 


CHAPTER  X 


TT,  y> 


"HE  WHO  SOWS  HATRED  SHALL  GATHER  RUE 

Sarexxes  had  taken  himself  off  again  to  gather  f rc.-h 
laurels  in  ambuscade  and  retreat,  the  alternatives  which 
compose  the  whole  science  of  la  petite  guerre,  and  I  had 
but  little  to  remind  me  of  my  loss  save  the  constant  ache 
at  my  heart  when  I  was  alone,  a  position  I  strove  by 
every  means  possible  to  avoid. 

That  Sarennes  was  desirous  of  making  some  repara- 
tion for  his  injury  towards  mo,  was  proved  by  a  letter 
from  him  dated  in  March,  and  written  from  his  mother's 
house  at  Beaulieu: 


"i 


"  Chevalier, —  There  is  an  Englishwoman  slaying  here  who 
claims  to  be  your  wife.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  in  the  n)aiter? 
I  am  ready  to  oblige  you  in  any  way.  Sarennes." 

I  have  never  made  any  pretension  to  a  fortitude  other 
than  that  which  any  honourable  gentleman  of  my  stand- 
ing might  claim.  I  was  still  sore  under  this  last  stroke 
of  undeserved  misfortune  which  had  so  cruelly  deprived 
me  of  Kit,  and  I  could  not  but  look  on  his  mother  as  at 
least  the  indirect  cause  of  my  loss.  Under  these  feelings 
I  delivered  the  following  to  the  Indian  runner  : 

"Monsieur, — If  you  have  any  regard  for  me,  keep  the  lady 
claiming  to  be  my  wife  at  such  distance  that  I  nmy  never  set  eyes 
on  her  again.  Should  she  be  in  want,  I  will  gladly  leiniburse  you 
for  any  expenditure  you  may  make  on  her  account. 

"  Le  Cuev.  Maxwell." 


"HATRED    SHALL    GATHER    RUE" 

We  now  come  to  events  on  which  the  antiquary  and 
the  studoiit  miglit  demand  a  larger  attention  and  notice 
than  I  sliall  duvoto  to  them.  I  have  been  too  prominent 
an  nctor  in  the  drama  of  the  downfall  of  New  France  to 
write  on  the  subject  with  tnat  calmness  and  impartiality 
with  which  I  try  to  view  all  matters;  and  I  leave  it  to 
the  gentleman  who  has  passed  his  lifetime  at  his  desk, 
undisturbed  by  any  greater  explosion  tiian  that  of  wifely 
indignation  at  his  late  hours  and  waste  of  otherwise  valu- 
able ink  and  paper,  to  relate  the  battles  he  has  never 
seen  and  weigh  the  interests  he  cannot  understand. 

In  January  we  had  positive  intelligence  that  the  Eng- 
lish would  make  a  descent  in  force  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment  in  the  spring.  On  the  first  day  of  June  we  saw 
from  our  ramparts  the  sails  of  their  fleet  spreading  over 
the  horizon,  and  by  the  eighth  they  attempted  their  do- 
scent  by  land. 

We  made  such  uofence  as  seemed  possible  at  the  time, 
but,  like  all  unsuccessful  efforts,  it  has  been  severely 
criticised  since,  chiefly  by  *'  the  gentleman  at  his  desk." 


As  we  lay  in  position  at  our  post  at  La  Cormorandi^re, 
hourly  expecting  the  landing  of  the  enemy,  it  was  re- 
ported by  our  surgeon-general,  M.  Guerin,  that  we  were 
utterly  without  provision  of  lint,  brandy,  and  other  ne- 
cessities for  the  wounded.  A  messenger  was  instantly 
despatched  with  a  requisition  to  the  Commissary,  but 
he  returned  with  a  message  from  Prevost  saying,  "There 
are  none  of  these  articles  in  tlie  King's  magazines  ;  if  the 
English  iorco  our  introuchmonts,  it  will  bo  their  busi- 
ness to  take  care  of  the  wounded  ;  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  are  successful,  we  shall  have  time  enougli  to  attend 
to  them." 

Our  colonel,  M.  de  St.  Julhien,  read  this  heartless  re- 
ply aloud,  amid  the  deepest  execrations  on  the  part  of 
our  officers,   and   then    turning  to   me,   said,    "  Here, 

83 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


!>' 


1 


( 


Chevalier,  I  understand  there  is  no  love  lost  between 
you  and  this  creature.  I  commission  you  to  see  that 
these  requirements  are  fulfilled  by  the  morning."  And 
he  sate  down  and  wrote  an  order  on  the  Commissary  to 
'*  deliver  to  the  Chevalier  Maxwell  such  stores  as  he  may 
demand  for  the  use  of  the  Company  d'Artois." 

Armed  with  this  authority,  I  set  forth  at  once,  and  ar- 
riving at  the  town  about  eight  o'clock,  made  my  way  to 
the  Commissary's  house  and  demanded  him  with  scant 
ceremony. 

He  appeared  with  but  little  delay,  and  I  caught  sight 
of  the  bright  face  of  Madame,  alight  with  curiosity,  be- 
hind him,  though  he  clapped  the  door  to  sharply  enough. 

'*  Well,  Monsieur  le  Lioutonant" — he  took  a  petty 
spite  in  disregarding  my  title  of  Chevalier — '^  what  brings 
you  here  away  from  your  post  ?" 

**  Only  the  definite  intention,  M.  le  Commissaire,  of 
seeing  that  you  obey  orders.  I  require  stores  for  my 
colonel ;  there  is  his  order,  and  if  you  try  any  of  your 
devil's  tricks  with  me,  sir,  I  will  make  no  more  of  run- 
ning you  through  than  I  would  a  rat." 

He  turned  as  white  as  a  piece  of  dried  plaster. 

'*  Come,  sir,  none  of  your  shuffling.  1  want  an  answer 
at  once." 

"You'll  get  no  answer  from  me,  sir,  other  than  I  have 
sent.     I  have  no  stores ;  the  magazines  are  empty." 

"  I  know  you  to  be  a  thief,  M.  le  Commissaire,  and  it 
is  no  great  stretch  of  imagination  to  believe  you  a  liar. 
Show  me  your  vaults." 

"Very  well,  very  well.  We  shall  see  who  is  right. 
We  shall  see  who  is  a  liar,"  and  he  started  off  with  alac- 
rity. 

"  Wait,  sir  !     Where  are  you  going  ?" 

**  Only  into  the  next  room  to  get  my  keys." 

"  Very  well ;  I'll  go  with  you,"  and  I  followed  him  into 

the  next  room. 

84 


HATRED    SHALL    GATHER    RUE" 


Here  we  found  Madame  on  tiptoe  witli  excitement  and 
curiosity. 

*' Whore  are  yon  goi^S  ?  What  is  tlic  matter?"  she 
asked,  quickly. 

*'  None  of  vour  business !"  roared  her  husband,  with 
his  usual  brutality. 

**Only  into  the  vault  to  look  for  stores,"  T  answered, 
throwing  as  much  feeling  into  the  commonplace  answer 
as  was  possible. 

Prevost  provided  himself  with  a  hinthorn  and  led  the 
way  through  the  passage  and  down  the  stops  leading  to 
the  cellars,  muttering  and  scolding  to  himself,  for  he 
dared  not  make  a  complaint  to  which  I  might  reply, 
until  we  reached  the  outer  door.  This  he  unlocked,  and 
I  discovered  '^  long  passage,  evidently  underground,  for 
the  air  struck  me  as  damp  and  chill  as  we  traversed  it,  to 
the  entrance  of  the  principal  vault,  which  ho  opened. 

"There  !  See  for  yourself  if  I  have  not  told  the  truth. 
It  is  as  empty  as  death  !"  and  as  he  spake  he  held  the 
lanthorn  high. 

But  this  did  not  satisfy  me.  I  was  determined  to 
take  nothing  for  granted  until  I  had  personally  proved 
the  truth  of  his  protestations. 

**  Give  mo  the  light,"  I  said,  taking  it  from  him  as  I 
entered. 

"  Willingly,"  he  replied  ;  but  I  had  not  taken  a  dozen 
steps  before  I  heard  a  clang,  the  quick  turn  of  a  key,  and 
found  I  was  a  prisoner,  trapped  like  a  rat  by  the  man  I 
most  hated  and  despised. 

At  first  I  was  inclined  to  laugh,  for  tho  turn  was  not 
without  its  cleverness,  but  the  inclination  was  quickly 
stilled  as  I  realized  what  such  a  situation  might  mean  to 
one  in  my  position. 

A  foreign  oilicer  failing  to  be  at  his  post  wlion  about 
to  meet  his  own  countrymen  face  to  face,  would  be  a 
default  open  to   such   construction   as    filled   me  with 

85 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


f 


I 


PI 


dismay- -a  construction  which  the  wretch  who  had 
trapped  mo  would  use  every  means  to  convert  into  the 
blackest  of  certainties.  When  the  first  feeling  of  dis- 
may had  passed  I  made  a  careful  examination  of  my 
prison,  but  the  result  brought  no  encouragement.  The 
vault,  which  was  an  outer  one,  was  only  provided  with 
two  heavy  doors,  the  one  by  which  I  had  entered,  and 
the  other  doubtless  leading  to  another  vault.  There 
was  not  a  sign  of  any  window  or  opening,  and  the  walls 
were  covered  with  a  white  coating  of  fungus.  In  one 
corner  was  some  useless  household  lumber,  and  against 
the  wall  stood  a  wooden  coffer  like  those  in  well-to-do 
farmers'  houses  at  home;  save  for  these  odds  and  ends, 
the  })lace  was  indeed  empty ;  in  so  far,  at  least,  my  gentle- 
man had  not  lied. 

I  placed  my  lanthorn  on  the  floor,  and  seating  myself 
on  the  chest,  tried  to  form  some  plan  of  action.  There 
was  no  use  in  atumpting  to  attract  attention  by  raising 
an  outcry,  for  I  was  certainly  underground,  cut  off  by 
the  long  passage  from  the  house.  If  I  made  a  fire  the 
smoke  could  not  escape,  and  I  should  only  gain  suffoca- 
tion for  my  pains.  There  was  absolutely  no  escape  that 
I  could  further  by  my  unaided  effort.  Dreadful  as  this 
thought  was,  I  was  tortured  by  others  infinitely  worse  ; 
by  phantasms  that  the  future  might  well  convert  into 
horrid  realities. 

With  a  too-readj  imagination  I  framed  the  crafty 
charges  Avliich  my  enemy  would  prefer  against  me.  No 
sense  of  shame  would  prevent  him  from  distorting  my 
innocent  relations  towards  his  wife  into  a  treacherous 
attempt  upon  his  honour  ;  he  would  no  doubt  trump  up 
some  suggestive  story  of  my  presence  in  his  house.  My 
unsupported  statement  of  my  imprisonment  must  stand 
against  his  specious  tale — the  word  of  the  accused  against 
that  of  the  injured  husband,  and  he  an  official  with 
powerful  backing.     The  ridiculous  trap  into  which  I  had 


te  '< 


"IIATIIED    SHALL    GATHER    RUE" 


tty 
No 
jiny 

)US 

up 

py 

lind 

[list 
•ith 
tad 


so  stupielly  fallen  would  be  difficult  to  explain  without 
derision  at  any  time,  but  now  it  was  a  time  of  actual  war, 
when  any  infraction  of  duty  would  be  puiiislied  with  the 
severest  penalty;  nothing  short  of  death  would  be  a  suf- 
ficient excuse  for  my  failure  to  return  to  my  post. 

I  pictured  myself,  an  alien — for  a  foreigner  is  always 
an  alien  no  matter  what  his  merit  or  service  may  be — 
fighting  for  life  against  the  malevolence  of  a  virulent 
enemy,  contending  too  against  that  monstrous  perver- 
sion of  justice  which  so  often  sways  a  court-martial — com- 
posed as  it  is  of  men  little  qualified  by  training  for  im- 
partial judgment  —  towards  the  severest  interpretation 
where  an  officer  without  influence  is  concerned,  to  win 
a  cheap  applause  from  outsiders  and  inferiors. 

My  blood  run  cold  at  the  thought.  1  stared  at  the 
lanthorn  until  my  eyes  ached,  and,  when  I  looked  else- 
where, the  image  of  the  flame  only  faded  to  give  place  to 
another  scene  in  the  drama  that  tried  my  fortitude  al- 
most beyond  endurance:  It  was  early  dawn  outside  tlie 
Brouillon  Bastion,  chilling  sheets  of  fog  swept  in  from 
over  the  dull  waters,  and  there,  with  back  against  the 
ramparts,  stood  a  coatless  figure,  with  pinioned  arms  and 
bandaged  eyes,  facing  a  file  of  soldiers — the  dreadful 
waiting  in  the  dark,  the  whispered  commands,  the  sud- 
den movement  of  the  men,  and  then —  I  jumped  to  my 
feet  trembling  in  every  limb,  and  with  sliaking  hand 
wiped  the  gathered  perspiration  from  my  forehead,  but 
could  not  wipe  away  the  vision  of  the  men  staring  at  the 
motionless  figure  lying  face  downward  on  the  trampled 
grass,  dishonoured,  never  to  be  spoken  of,  until  the  Great 
Day,  when  all  the  injustices  of  the  ages  shall  be  righted 
and  made  clear. 

I  again  seized  the  lanthorn  and  re-examined  every 
stone  and  corner  with  feverish  hope,  only  to  have  de- 
spair triumph  over  it  more  completely  than  before.  Then 
came  a  season  of  mad  revolt.     It  v/as  too  horrible !  too 

87 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


impossible !  that  I,  Hugh  Maxwell,  a  gentleman,  who  had 
lived  deliciitely,  who  had  shone  in  society  which  the 
world  conrted,  who  had  loved  fair  women,  had  talked, 
and  smiled,  and  sung  to  them,  could  in  a  few  short  hours 
be  lying  a  mangled  corpse  in  this  obricure  corner  of  the 
world,  could  die  the  death  of  a  dog,  of  a  traitor,  the 
most  shameful  that  can  come  to  a  man  of  honour.  I  was 
filled  with  a  vast  pity  for  myself,  so  mighty  and  over- 
Avhclming  that  tears  tilled  my  eyes  as  for  another,  for  I 
saw  myself  apart,  as  it  were,  as  distinctly  as  I  saw  that 
pitiful  figure  before  the  ramparts  ;  then  the  childishness 
of  it  flashed  across  me  and  I  laughed  aloud  ;  but  my 
laughter  was  no  more  real  than  my  tears,  for  neither 
brougiit  relief,  and  the  weary  round  began  again. 


'\^ 


Pi   f\ 


fi 


How  many  hours  this  continued  I  do  not  know,  but 
my  attention  was  suddenly  arrested  by  a  sound  at  the 
door,  and  I  made  out  a  jingle  of  keys.  Quickly  blowing 
out  the  light,  I  drew  my  sword  and  prepared  to  force  an 
exit,  no  matter  what  the  odds.  But  scarce  had  the  door 
moved  when  I  caught  a  low  whisper.  "The  chest 
against  the  wall  !  Quick  I"  Then  followed  the  voice 
of  Madame  Prevost  raised  in  dismay :  "  Mon  Dieu, 
Charles  !  My  candle  has  gone  out !  Hurry,  bring  a 
light !" 

The  moment's  delay  sufficed  ;  I  gained  the  chest  and 
squeezed  myself  in,  letting  the  lid  down  over  me. 

In  a  moment  and  before  my  heart  ceased  beating  I 
heard  her  clear  accents  again.  **  There,  Charles  !  There, 
Antoine  !  Take  it  up  and  carry  it  to  my  room."  And 
I  felt  the  chest  slowly  lifted,  and  the  men  staggered  out, 
complaining  loudly  of  its  weight. 

Up  the  stairs  we  travelled,  uncomfortably  for  me ;  then 
on  a  level  again  along  the  passage  ;  and  I  was  laughing 
to  myself  at  the  probable  outcome  of  my  adventure,  when 
I  heard, 


I*  *■ 


i 


m 


i 


ih 


I 


W^ 


HI 


I 


"HATRED  SHALL  GATHER  Rl  E" 


**  Where  in  the  name  of  ftll  the  devils  are  you  lugging 
that  thiiiii:  ?" 

It  was  the  Commissary  ! 

'*  To  my  room.  I  want  to  put  my  furs  away,"  came 
the  soft  answer  from  niiidame. 

•*  Blague  !  Put  it  dowu  I"  And  I  was  jarred  on  the 
stone  flags. 

Then  came  a  pause,  and  I  was  spooulating  on  the  best 
mode  of  att.ack  for  a  man  in  my  ridiculous  position, 
when  the  chest  was  lifted  at  one  end  and  again  dropped 
heavily. 

Then  came  the  same  voice,  but  with  a  tone  of  triumph 
to  it : 

"  Well,  do  Jis  you  like  ;  but  there  is  a  lot  of  old  rub- 
bish in  it.  Take  it  lirst,  and  empty  it  over  the  Prin- 
cess's Bastion  !''  And  once  more  the  chest  was  slowly 
lifted. 

A  pretty  situation  surely,  and  clever  on  the  part  of  M. 
the  Commissary  again.  A  tumble  down  on  those  rocks 
or  into  the  nunit  would  be  equally  effective,  and  would 
not  require  such  explanations  as  if  my  body  were  found 
in  the  King's  vaults;  but  my  gentleman  reckoned  with- 
out his  host. 

My  scheme  was  as  simple  as  his  own.  Hardly  had  we 
got  clear  of  the  house  before  my  mind  was  nuide  up. 
When  I  judged  we  were  at  the  open  space  between  the 
end  of  the  barricaded  street  and  the  ramparts  I  uttered 
a  terrifying  yell  and  flapped  the  lid.  It  was  enough. 
The  chest  went  crashing  to  tlie  ground,  and  I  criiwlod 
out,  bruised  but  otherwise  unhurt,  and  my  valiant  por- 
ters were  out  of  sight. 

Without  delay  I  made  my  way  to  M.  Bois  de  la  Mothe, 
in  charge  of  the  fleet,  and  stated  the  case,  carefully  sup- 
pressing, however,  all  mention  of  my  personal  advent- 
ure, and  by  morning  was  in  possession  of  the  desired 
stores,  extracted  from  the  Commissary  by  a  peremptory 

89 


I  i 


J  J 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

threat  to  put  him  in  irons  and  send  him  to  France  if 
they  were  not  forth-coming. 

Long  before  our  preparations  could  be  made  for  leav- 
ing the  town,  the  sound  of  musketry  reached  us  from 
La  Cormorandiere,  and  we  knew  the  landing  was  at- 
tempted. I  was  all  impatience  to  be  off,  but  our  scanty 
stores  could  not  be  risked  if  the  attempt  were  successful ; 
so  with  the  others  I  ar."iously  awaited  the  result.  But, 
alas  !  our  stoutest  hopes  were  dashed  by  the  sight  of 
white  uniforms  straggling  over  the  crest  of  the  hill  in 
full  flight,  and,  instead  of  a  hospital  train,  I  was  soon 
heading  a  sortie  to  support  the  retreat  of  our  troops, 
with  the  3annon  thundering  over  our  heads  to  cover 
their  entry  into  the  threatened  town. 

90 


fi     \ 


m 


:  f 


CHAPTER  XI 

"A   FRIEND   AT  ONE's   BACK   IS   A   SAFE  BRIDGE*' 

One  after  another  our  positions  were  abandoned  or 
driven  in,  until  the  plan  of  defence  by  our  outlying 
works  entirely  failed,  and  we  were  forced  to  fall  back  on 
the  sorry  defences  of  the  town  itself. 

Our  ships  did  little  or  no  effective  service,  and  though 
we  succeeded  in  closing  the  mouth  of  the  harbour  and 
were  comparatively  safe  on  that  side,  the  English  crept 
closer  and  closer,  until  they  hemmed  us  in  between  their 
over-contracting  lines  and  the  sea. 

On  the  evening  of  the  8th  of  July  the  colonel  of  the 
regiment  of  Bourgogne  called  for  volunteers,  and  leav- 
ing the  town  by  night,  six  hundred  strong,  we  hurled 
ourselves  upon  the  enemy's  southern  line,  only  to  be 
driven  back  with  heavy  enough  losses  on  each  side,  and 
at  daybreak  to  see  the  English  General,  Wolfe,  in  a  more 
advanced  position. 

Among  the  prisoners  we  carried  in  with  us  was  a  young 
officer  of  the  78th,  a  Highland  regiment. 

My  services  as  interpreter  were  not  required,  as  he 
spake  French  perfectly,  so  it  was  not  until  after  his  in- 
terview with  M.  de  Drucour  that  I  met  him  in  company 
with  my  colonel. 

*'  Chevalier,  a  countryman  of  your  own,  an  unwilling 
guest  on  our  poor  hospitality.  Captain  Nairn,  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Kirkconnel." 

We  bowed,  but  I  supplemented  the  courtesy  by  ex- 

91 


llll 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


f 


.1         '  ■     ' 

M 


n 


II 


tending  my  luind,  for  I  was  in  no  doubt  for  a  moment 
as  to  his  identity,  his  likeness  to  his  sister  Margaret 
being  rcniarkaljle. 

"  Cai)tain  Nairn  is  well  known  to  me,"  I  said,  laugh- 
ing.    •*  I  could  even  name  him  more  intimately." 

"  Indeed,  and  what  might  that  be  ?"  he  returned,  on 
his  guard. 

**  Archie." 

"God  bless  my  soul!  Who  are  you,  sir?  I  haven't 
heard  tliat  name  for  ten  years  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  the 
greatest  surprise. 

"  I  can  go  even  further.  I  can  name  a  certain  mission 
which  ended  in  Fort  William." 

''Sir,"  he  answered,  with  grave  dignity,  "I  dislike 
mystilications.    Who  told  you  these  things  ?" 

"One  Maxwell." 

"  Have  a  care,  sir ;  you  are  naming  one  to  whom  I 
am  under  deep  obligation." 

"  I  am  naming  one-,  Captain  Nairn,  who  will  be  as 
pleased  to  be  of  service  to  you  now  as  then." 

At  this  his  face  fairly  flamed  with  pleasure,  and  he 
caught  my  hand  in  both  his. 

"Chevalier,  I  know  you  now.  Maxwell  of  Kirkcon- 
nel !  There  is  no  man  I  would  rather  meet  in  this  world 
than  yourself." 

"I  cannot  make  out  a  word  of  your  jargon,"  broke  in 
M.  de  St.  Julliien,  "but  you  seem  to  understand  each 
other.  Barbarians,  va  !  You  are  best  left  in  charge  of 
each  other.  You  are  on  parole,  remember,  Caj)tain 
Nairn — and  you  are  on  your  honour  as  host,  remember, 
Clievalier.  Do  not  disgrace  our  reputation  for  iiospi- 
taliLy.  If  your  cellar  be  low,  I  have  a  bottle  or  two  un- 
cracked,"'  he  cried,  as  he  bowed  and  walked  oil,  and  we 
took  our  way  to  my  quarters. 

My  heart  was  bursting  for  news  of  my  dear  Margaret, 
but  these  were  the  last  tidings  I  could  ask  of  a  brother 

92 


^ 


a 


;'''i 

'h'*^ 


'  '( 


='"  I 


.;^       i 

M  ;* 

1  ' 

' 

r 

'  t 

N 


wh 

ha( 

liv( 

1 

my 

ter( 

wh] 

tho 

trii 

sibi 

and 

perj 

hur 

A 

her. 

<( 

C0U5 

muc 

reso 

serv 

diss] 

her. 

ence 

(( 

neve 

had 

solve 

earl} 

not  I 

then 

Vico 

marr 

Ar 

man 

with 

sligh 

*'A    SAFE    BRIDGE" 


whose  sister  had  cast  him  off.  In  ordinary  courtesy  I 
had  to  abandon  ray  personal  gratification  and  feign  a 
lively  interest  in  his  adventures. 

These,  however,  I  have  no  intenHon  of  inflicting  upon 
my  reader.  I  have  refrained  from  telling  much  of  in- 
terest in  connection  with  myself  through  a  reticence 
which  is,  perhaps,  blamable  ;  and  Captain  Nairn,  al- 
though relating  a  tale  which  bore  every  impress  of 
truth,  was  bald  in  his  manner,  lacking  that  lively  sen- 
sibility which  is  the  charm  of  all  cultivated  narration, 
and,  being  unable  to  view  any  occurrence  save  from  a 
personal  stand,  was  utterly  lacking  in  any  sense  of 
humour. 

At  length  I  felt  I  was  justified  in  asking  for  tidings  of 
her,  who  for  me,  stood  first  among  all  women. 

*'  You  are  aware.  Captain  Nairn,  that  when  with  my 
cousin  Lady  Jane  Drummond  in  London  and  Paris  I  saw 
much  of  your  sister  Margaret.  I  know  of  the  unhappy 
resolution  slie  took,  on  hearing  of  your  acceptance  of 
service  under  King  George,  but  may  I  hope  that  it  is 
dissipated  ere  now,  and  that  you  can  give  me  news  of 
her,  for  these  hostilities  have  prevented  all  correspond- 
ence for  near  a  year  past  ?" 

"  No,"  lie  answered,  gravely ;  "  my  poor  sister  has 
never  brought  herself  to  forgive  me,  and  I  have  never 
had  word  from  her  direct  since  I  informed  her  of  my  re- 
solve. I  heard  before  sailing  that  Lady  Jane  had  died 
early  last  year,  leaving  her  well  provided,  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  she  had  taken  the  veil,  as 
there  was  some  disappointment  in  connection  with  the 
Viconite  de  Trincardel,  whom,  I  believe,  she  was  to  have 
married." 

And  witli  this  I  liad  to  be  content,  for  Nairn  was  not  a 
man  of  many  words,  and  in  any  event  his  acquaintance 
with  his  sister,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  a  child,  was 
slight  compared  witli  mine. 

93 


it  n 


r" 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


^ 


n 


t'B'' 


;  1 1' 


I . 


Meantime  the  besieging  line  crept  closer  and  closer 
about  us.  Building  after  building  went  crashing  down, 
or  was  swept  heavenward  in  a  tower  of  lliime  ;  our  weak- 
ened ramparts  crumbled  day  and  night  before  the  never- 
ceasing  storm  of  shot  and  shell  breaking  on  them,  and 
the  very  earth  trembled  under  the  incessant  thunder  of 
the  bombardment. 

Our  one  hope  lay  in  the  appearance  of  Sarennes,  who 
had  been  ordered  to  our  relief  with  a  sufficient  force  of 
Canadians  and  Indians.  Not  that  the  latter  are  by  any 
means  the  formidable  foe  generally  imagined,  but  the 
terror  of  their  name  was  great  in  European  ears,  and 
any  diversion  on  the  part  of  so  dreaded  an  ally  would 
give  us  instant  relief.  This  was  the  hope  that  supported 
us  ;  our  gallant  fellows  stood  by  their  guns  on  their 
crumbling  ramparts,  and  as  they  fell  beside  them  more 
than  one  man  said  :  ''  Our  turn  next.  Wait  till  they  see 
the  savages  !" 

*' Courage,  my  children  !  We  only  need  Sarennes  to 
show  himself,"  Drucour  repeated,  as  an  incentive  when 
he  marked  our  fire  slacken. 

"  There  is  another  signal  for  M.  de  Sarennes  !"  cried 
his  intrepid  lady,  undauntedly,  as  she  daily  fired  her 
three  cannon  with  her  own  brave  liands,  and  day  by 
day  men  and  officers  uncovered  and  cheered  her  as  she 
passed. 

Within  the  crowded  casemates  by  the  King's  Bastion, 
the  only  place  of  safety  now  left,  terrified  women  and 
children  wept  and  prayed,  and  wounded  men  cried  and 
ra^'^I  for  the  delayed  succour  ;  every  time  the  enemy's 
^'.y^'  slnckened  for  an  instant — it  was  Sarennes  who  had 
a.ii  "'kcu  them  in  rear  ;  every  time  the  thunder  redoubled 
lU  L'u»  vaa.ted  chambers — it  was  our  support  of  Sarennes's 
«ttvNr  ,. ;  but  as  day  after  day  came  and  went  without 
relief,  the  weeping,  prayers,  crying,  and  ravings  were 
hushed  into  a  dull  despair,  and  on  the  ramparts  and  in 

94 


A    SAFE    BRIDGE" 


the  casemates  men  cursed  at  the  very  mention  of  that 
name  which  had  so  long  been  their  solo  support. 

One  night  in  the  middle  of  July,  Nairn,  in  discussing 
the  probable  length  of  our  resistance,  said  to  me  : 

**  Chevalier,  what  will  you  do  when  this  is  at  an 
end  ?" 

Although  it  was  a  question  which  had  been  perplexing 
me  constantly,  I  answered,  carelessly  enough,  ''  If  this 
bombardment  keep  up,  the  chances  are  that  I  shall  not 
be  called  upon  to  settle  so  important  a  point." 

"Chances  enough,"  he  responded,  gravely;  "it  is 
never  the  number  of  men  who  fall,  but  the  number  who 
escape,  at  which  I  am  astonished.  But  that  is  not  the 
point.  I  have  been  thinking  much,  and  am  much  troub- 
led about  your  future." 

"  So  am  I,  for  that  matter,  though  I  have  never  found 
that  I  have  advanced  it  a  hair's  -  breadth  by  losing  a 
night's  sleep  over  it.  No,  no.  Captain  Nairn,  the  best 
tiling  that  can  happen  to  me  is  to  do  the  grande  cul- 
bute." 

"  Chevalier,  I  am  not  only  under  heavy  personal  obli- 
gation towards  you,  but  the  memory  of  your  friendship 
for  me  and  mine  ties  me  closer  to  you  than  you  know.  I 
stand  high  in  the  esteem  of  my  general,  who  in  turn  can 
command  attention  to  any  request.  You  have  approved 
of  my  own  conduct  in  accepting  service  ;  let  me  open  the 
way  for  you  to  the  same  honourable  career.  You  have 
abundantly  paid  your  debt  to  Franco  ;  give  your  arm  to 
your  own  people.  Surely  there  come  times  when  you 
dream  of  '  home.'" 

"  Captain  Nairn,"  I  answered,  "believe  me,  I  can  pay 
you  no  higher  compliment  than  in  saying  I  receive  your 
words  without  offence.  I  am  sensible,  deeply  sensible  of 
the  kindness,  may  I  say  tlie  affection,  which  prompts 
your  offer  ;  but  '  my  people '  are  wanderers  on  the  face 

95 


u 


^M 


T 


"mmmt 


M  ? 


THE    SPAN    0'   LIFE 

of  the  earth  ;  my  lot  is  tliat  of  the  soldier  of  fortune. 
*  Home/  Nairn  !  Though  I  have  never  set  my  foot  on 
my  own  soil  save  as  an  outlaw  and  a  rebel,  my  heart  at 
times  grows  faint  for  it,  and  the  turn  of  an  old  song  sets 
my  brain  aching  and  my  eyes  longing,  but  my  only  in- 
heritance has  been  the  loyalty  which  has  robbed  me  of  it 
all.  That  I  am  on  the  losing  side  is  my  misfortune  ;  that 
I  have  inspired  your  respect  and  affection  is  my  rev/ard. 
I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  but  do  not 
mention  the  subject  again  if- you  love  me." 


.'  m 


ii 


■r  III 


I 


One  personal  gratification  the  siege  brought  to  me  was 
the  renewal  of  my  intercourse  with  the  fair  JMadame 
Prevost.  Now  that  I  had  her  truculent  husband  under 
my  thumb,  for  I  held  exposure  over  him  like  the  sword 
of  Damocles,  I  was  free  to  see  as  much  of  her  as  I  chose. 

People  eat  and  sleep,  breathe  and  hope,  though  dan- 
ger may  lie  down  with  them  by  night  and  draw  their 
curtains  with  the  day  ;  at  such  times  tlio  most  marked 
difference  is  that  life  goes  with  a  faster  foot,  so  that  my 
intimacy  with  my  cliarmi ng  rescuer  grew  at  a  pace  alto- 
gether disproportionate  to  the  hours. 

On  the  evenhig  of  the  24tli  of  July,  when  capitulation 
was  unavoidable,  when  our  fire  was  so  weak  that  it  was 
more  like  funeral  guns  than  a  defence,  and  our  one  anx- 
iety was  to  obtain  honourable  terms,  Madame  Prevost 
came  to  me  in  a  sad  state  of  distraction. 

"Chevalier,"  she  said,  "it  is  hopeless!  No  matter 
what  the  commandant  may  resolve,  we  are  betrayed. 
Prevost  will  force  them  to  accept  any  terms,  no  matter 
how  great  the  humiliation.  It  is  nothing  to  him  so  long 
as  he  escapes ;  but  it  is  death  to  me.  I  have  been  de- 
spised all  these  years  on  account  of  my  connection  with 
him ;  I  have  suffered  tortures  of  shame  daily  through 
the  siege,  and  now  all  will  be  crowned  with  this  height 
of  infamy.     I  cannot  bear  it !     I  cannot  look  upon  it  I" 

96 


I  •' 


I'i. 


«A    SAFE    BRIDGE" 


)ng 
Icle- 
lith 
igh 

It  I" 


And  the  poor  distracted  orcatnre  fell  to  sobbing  uiid 
wt'L'piiig  as  if  her  very  heart  woidd  break. 

When  she  had  recovered  somewhat  she  revealed  her 
design,  which  was  that,  should  Provost  succeed  in  forc- 
ing the  commandant  to  the  disgraceful  surrender  we  all 
feared,  she  and  I  would  escape  together. 

I  was  much  moved  by  her  generous  offer,  for  generous 
it  was  beyond  a  doubt.  I  have  known  too  much  of  wom- 
en not  to  recognise  when  full  credit  should  be  given  to 
their  virtues,  and  if  Madame  Prevost  had  a  second 
thought  beyond  escaping  from  the  disgrace  of  the  ca- 
pitulation, then  I  know  nothing  of  the  sex. 

*' My  dearest  madame,"  I  answered,  warmly,  "'tis 
quite  out  of  the  question." 

"■  Why  ?  I  have  seen  old  Gourdeau,  the  pilot ;  hia 
two  sons  have  a  boat  at  my  service.  They  know  every 
hole  and  corner  of  the  liarbour,  and  will  do  anything 
for  me." 

**The  boat  is  not  the  question,  my  dear  madame;  it 
is  yourself  I  am  thinking  of." 

"Well,  I  am  ready.  I  will  have  everything  in  readi- 
ness ,  if  the  capitulation  be  not  signed  by  nightfall,  it 
will  be  by  the  morning,  and  the  moment  it  is  determined 
on,  you  are  free.  We  can  easily  pass  out  by  the  wicket 
near  the  Brouillon  Bastion,  and  the  Gourdeau  will  be  at 
th-^ir  post.     I  have  thought  of  everything." 

"  Pardon  me,  madame  ;  you  have  thought  of  every- 
thing save  yourself.  Have  you  thought  of  what  the 
world  will  say  to  your  flight  with  me  ?  It  will  only 
credit  you  with  motives  of  which  I  know  you  have  never 
dreamed." 

'*  Oh,  mon  Dieu,  monsieur !  this  is  cruel  of  you  !"  she 
cried,  much  distressed.  "I  was  thinking  as  much  of 
you  as  of  myself." 

"  You  were,  I  am  sure,  thinking  more  of  me  than  of 
yourself,  and  for  this  I  speak  plainly,  madame.  I  am 
Q  C7 


■III 


rfL-*- 


TPIE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


i 


I' 


^r 


overcome  Avith  your  generosity,  but  my  appreciation  of 
it  is  too  high  to  allow  you,  an  honourable  woman,  to 
wreck  your  good  name  for  my  sake.  I  cannot  go  among 
the  English,  where  you  might  bo  unrecognised,  but 
where  I  am  still  a  proscribed  rebel ;  you  cannot  go 
among  your  own  people  to  Quebec,  where  you  would  but 
suffer  a  martyrdom  for  your  courage  and  sacrifice.  No, 
no,  my  dear  madame,  believe  me,  it  is  not  to  be 
thought  of !" 

Here  she  began  to  cry  again,  somewliat  to  my  relief, 
for  I  saw  that  her  resolution  was  giving  way. 

**  Oh,  mon  ami !  I  have  been  nothing  but  a  silly  fool 
of  a  woman  all  my  life  !  Since  my  husband  married  me 
out  of  a  convent,  no  man  has  spoken  to  me  but  to  flatter, 
or  to  make  love,  until  you  came.  You  are  the  only  one 
who  has  treated  me  as  an  equal,  and  because  of  this,  I 
would  do  anything  for  you.  I  care  nothing  for  what  the 
world  says  !" 

"  Probably  not,  madame,  because  you  have  no  idea 
what  extremely  cruel  things  it  can  say,"  1  returned,  for 
enthusiasm  is  a  bad  beginning  for  argument.  ''But 
suppose  I  were  willing.  1  have  only  my  sword  to  de- 
pend upon,  and  you  know  how  much  that  is  worth  now- 
adays !  If  I  turned  it  into  a  spit,  I  could  not  even  pro- 
vide a  capon  to  roast  upon  it.  But  long  before  we  came 
to  that  pass  we  would  infallibly  be  captured  or  starved, 
for  a  woman  cannot  put  up  with  the  hardships  of  such  a 
venture.  I  had  some  months  of  it  in  Scotland  after  the 
Forty -five,  and  I  know  what  it  means.  To  lodge  tl  la 
belle  etoile,  and  to  dine  with  Duke  Humphrey,  as  we 
English  put  it,  may  be  the  highest  romance,  but  I  as- 
sure you  the  quarters  are  draughty  in  the  one,  and  the 
table  bare  with  the  other." 

As  I  s^3ake  her  face  brightened,  and  by  the  time  I 
made  an  end  she  took  both  my  hands  and  said,  deter- 
minedly :  '*  Then,  mon  ami,  you  shall  go  alone.     I  will 

98 


"A    SAFE    BRIDGE" 

have  everything  in  readiness,  and  I  do  it  for  you  with  all 
my  heart — the  more  so  thn,t  your  refusal  makes  it  better 
worth  the  doing,"  she  added,  with  an  attempt  at  a  laugh, 
and  then  turned  and  ran  off,  that  she  might  not  discover 
her  feelings  further. 

It  was  a  surprising  outcome,  and  much  as  I  regretted 
the  seemingly  ungracious  part  I  was  forced  to  play,  I 
could  not  but  rejoice  at  tlie  opportunity  offered  of  es- 
caping from  English  hands,  particularly  those  of  such 
regiments  as  Lee's,  Lascelles's,  or  Warburton's,  my  old 
opponents  in  Scotland.  There  was  no  difficulty  in  carry- 
ing out  the  simple  plan,  for,  in  providing  the  boat  and 
the  men,  Madame  Provost  had  overcome  the  one  ob- 
stacle. Hostilities  would  be  suspended,  vigilance  would 
be  relaxed,  and  if  the  capitulation  were  not  signed  before 
nightfall,  it  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  gain  the  harbour, 
and  under  cover  of  the  night  to  pass  the  enemy's  bat- 
teries and  make  some  unguarded  point  on  the  coast  be- 
yond their  lines  before  day. 

It  fell  out  much  as  we  had  anticipated.  M.  de  Drn- 
cour  demanded  the  same  terms  as  those  extended  to  the 
English  at  Port  Mahon,  in  Minorca.  These  were  re- 
fused, and  he  resolved,  with  our  unanimous  consent,  to 
abide  by  the  assault.  But  Pruvost  was  at  work,  and  so 
artfully  did  he  play  on  our  commandant  that  by  eleven 
o'clock  the  same  night,  July  25,  1758,  the  terms  of  the 
harsh  capitulation  were  accepted. 

At  midnight,  the  capitulation  being  signed,  I  passed 
out  by  the  Brouillon  Bastion,  found  the  men  with  their 
shallop  in  readiness,  and,  stepping  in,  said,  in  answer  to 
their  query  : 

^'  All  the  papers  are  signed  ;  the  English  enter  in  the 
morning." 

***Dieu  seul  devine  les  sots,'"  quoted  old  Gourdeau, 
sadly.     **  Shove  off!" 

99 


'  Hi 


ft  u 


m 


y^t 


I'  *-■ 


I 


f.'i 


I 


'i 


^ki 


part  If 
MARGARET'S  STORY 

"Zc  caur  mine  ou  il  fa."— Old  Puoverb. 


I  t.n 


nl 


Mi 


s 


^^mm 


r// 


I , 


i.i 


en  AFTER  XII 

WHAT   HAPPENED   IN    THE    BATE    DES    CHALEURS 

Never,  never  shall  I  forget  the  elation  which  filled  my 
heart  as  I  stepped  ashore  with  Lucy  that  September  day 
in  the  Bale  des  Chaleiirs,  in  Canada.  After  weeks  of  un- 
rest, my  feet  once  more  were  on  the  sure,  unchanging 
earth,  in  the  land  that  held  what  was  more  than  all  else 
to  me,  **my  dear  and  only  love/'  my  Hugh. 

As  we  strolled  along  the  clear,  hard  sands  beyond  the 
sound  of  the  men  toiling  at  the  water-casks,  I  felt  tempt- 
ed to  cry  ;  '•  Lucy,  Lucy,  can  you  not  see  my  happiness  ? 
I  am  no  Madame  de  St.  Just,  but  ^largarot  Nairn,  the 
happiest  woman  in  all  the  world,  because  my  feet  press 
the  same  ground  that  bears  my  love."  This,  poor  Lucy, 
with  her  cramped  Methodistical  ways,  would  have  held 
savoured  only  of  lightness,  or  worse ;  she  could  never  un- 
derstand the  longing  that  had  worn  at  my  heart  all  these 
years,  and,  most  of  all,  she  could  never  conceive  of  a  love 
such  as  that  of  my  Hugh.  Crowning  all  my  joy  came 
back  the  words  of  his  dear,  dear  song — 

■ 
"The  spau  o'  Lifo's  nae  lang  eneugli, 
Nor  deep  eueutrli  tlie  sea, 
Nor  braid  eneui^h  this  weary  warld 
To  part  my  Love  frae  uie." 


No,  nothing  should  part  us  now.  Poverty  and  pride 
had  kept  him  silent  when  my  heart  wasj'carning  for  him  ; 
but  now,  poverty  did  not  exist,  for  I  was  here  to  make 

103 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

him  restitution,  and  the  pride  Avas  all  mine  now.  in  claim- 
ing a  love  that  belonged  to  me  alone.  Love  was  King, 
and 

"  The  King  shall  have  his  own 
Once  more  ! 
The  King  shall  have  his  own  !" 


B 


« 


I* .  Ji 


I  sang,  mimicking  his  manly  tone  as  best  I  might,  to  the 
great  astonishment  of  Lncy. 

Delighted  as  we  were  merely  to  feel  the  sands  beneath 
our  feet,  the  soft,  fresh  green  of  the  forest  which  edged 
them  close  attracted  us,  and  we  timidly  made  our  way 
under  the  first  scattered  trees.  Then  seeing  no  wild  ani- 
mals, of  which  we  were  greatly  in  dread,  and  hearing  the 
reassuring  voices  of  the  seamen,  we  ventured  in  far 
enough  to  gain  the  thick,  sweet-smelling  carpet  of  pine 
needles,  and  at  length  seated  ourselves  by  a  little  stream, 
but  near  enough  the  sands  to  see  the  waters  of  the  bay 
glinting  between  the  trees. 

*'0h,  Lucy,  Lucy,  I  am  so  happy  !''  I  said,  in  tlie  ful- 
ness of  my  heart,  giving  her  my  hand,  for  I  looked  on 
her  more  as  a  companion  than  a  Avai ting-woman  ;  but  be- 
fore she  could  reply  a  hand  was  clapped  over  my  mouth, 
and  I  saw  Lucy  struggling  in  the  arms  of  a  savage.  An 
overwhelming  terror  crushed  all  life  and  sense  out  of  me, 
and  I  swooned  away. 

When  I  recovered  I  found  [  was  being  carried  swiftly  by 
two  savages,  one  at  my  shoulders  and  another  at  my  feet, 
but  my  terror  was  so  great  upon  mo  that  I  dared  not  make 
a  sound.  How  long,  or  how  far  we  went  I  could  not  even 
conjecture.  I  saw  the  trees  passing  before  my  upturned 
eyes  as  in  some  horrid  dream,  but  it  was  not  until  1  be- 
gan to  catch  glimpses  of  the  sky  through  the  thinning 
branches,  and  my  captors  halted  in  an  open  space,  setting 
mo  on  my  feet,  that  my  senses  came  back  in  some  degree. 

\Vc  were  beside  the  water  again,  dark  and  empty.     Tbe 

lO-i 


like 
kvcn 

l)G- 


M 


'    J' 


;rce. 
The 


ir'i  i 

T 

J  -1  i 

m 

lii 

H/ 

» 

I 

I't 

%\ 

i 

ftj 

■      i 

P 

1 

1 

If 

i 

lii 

1 
i 

:«  ' 

i 

k;) 

1    : 

] 

c 

p 

si 
ai 
ki 
vi 
fo 
tri 

Ij 

lea 


dis 
wa! 
lea( 
taw 


THE    BAIE    DES   CHALEURS 


Indians  immediately  brought  forth  three  of  their  light 
canoes,  which  they  had  cunningly  concealed  among  the 
bushes,  and  laid  them  gently  on  the  stream.  No  one 
molested  me,  nor,  indeed,  paid  any  special  attention  to 
me  as  I  sate  and  watched  them. 

The  pictures  in  such  works  as  La  Ilontain  and  others 
I  had  seen  were  unreal,  and  I  could  not  recognise  their 
models  in  the  men  about  me.  They  were  painted,  it  is 
true,  but  in  a  manner  more  grotesque  than  affrighting ; 
their  hair  was  black  and  lanky,  plastered  close  to  their 
heads,  but  with  one  or  two  long,  plaited  braids  escaping, 
ornamented  with  beads.  Their  only  clothing  consisted 
of  leather  leggings  more  or  less  tattered,  and  the  belts 
for  their  weapons,  which  crossed  their  naked  bodies ; 
each  one  was  shod  with  soft  moccasins  neatly  ornament- 
ed, and  I  could  not  but  admire-  the  ease  and  agility  of 
their  movements.  Strangely  enough,  I  was  no  longer  pos- 
sessed by  my  former  terrors,  my  only  anxiety  being  for 
Lucy;  but  I  could  not  doubt  she  was  in  safety,  as  the 
Lidians  were  evidently  expecting  the  arrival  of  the  rest 
of  the  band. 

Before  long  we  heard  sounds  of  their  approach,  and  my 
poor  Lucy  appeared.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  mistress  !" 
she  cried,  "\  was  afraid  I  should  never  see  you  again  !" 
and  the  faithful  creature  clasped  me  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  me  as  if  I  had  been  a  child.  Once  she  was  con- 
vinced of  my  safety,  she  straigat  recovered  her  serenity, 
for  it  was  more  than  composurj.  Her  absolute  faith  and 
trust  that  we  were  in  tlio  hand  of  Cod — of  '*  Our  Heaven- 
ly Father,"  as  she  always  said — was  so  conipleto  that  I 
leaned  upon  her  strength  and  was  comforted. 

All  was  now  ready  for  the  embarkation,  but,  to  our 
dismay,  we  were  directed  to  different  canoes.  No  force 
was  used.  Indeed,  my  captor,  who  appeared  to  be  the 
leader,  or  chief,  for  he  wore  somewhat  more  of  their 
tawdry  finery  than  the  others,  and  his  face  was  decorated 

105 


0 


]  11 
1  '  1 


:(■■  I 


/' 


THE    SPAN    0'  LIFE 

by  a  broad  band  of  white  below  the  eyes,  seemed  anxious 
to  add  to  my  comfort,  directing  me  how  to  dispose  of 
myself  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe.  But  once  separated 
from  Lucy,  I  lost  the  courage  with  which  she  had  in- 
spired me,  .'^,ncl  ^  fembled  at  the  rough,  guttural  voices 
of  the  savagbs,  w wo  talked  their  loudest,  filling  me  with 
the  greater  apprehension,  as  it  betokened  they  held  them- 
selves beyond  pursuit  or  discovery. 

But  Lucy,  dear  courageous  soul  that  she  was,  divined 
my  fears,  and  ■  1<;  her  message  of  reassurance  to  me 

in  one  of  her  peop^'^  '  ••niis,  which  I  had  learned  to  love 
on  board  the  ship . 

"Tb(,  ;  -Riy  pr.   :•  '   \'d 

The  mind  whicii  St   .     i»  Thee  is  stayed 
Is  kept  in  perfect  peace." 

At  length,  when  tlio  olear  September  day  began  to 
fade,  we  landed,  and  Lucy  and  I  were  again  together. 
No  one  seemed  to  pay  any  special  regard  to  us,  but  though 
we  had  apparent  liberty,  I  felt  sure  that  any  attempt  at 
escape  would  be  futile  ;  indeed,  the  black  forest  about  us 
held  more  terrors,  to  our  minds,  than  even  our  captivity. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  savages  had  kindled  a  fire, 
and  the  work  of  clearing  away  the  brush  and  making  a 
camp  was  begun.  In  spite  of  our  fears,  Ave  could  not 
but  admire  the  readiness  of  those  at  work,  while  the 
chief,  with  the  principal  warriors,  lay  about  smoking, 
and  staring  at  us  with  tlioir  fixed  eyes. 

In  a  little  space  a  fish  was  broiled  on  the  hot  stones, 
and  a  portion  of  it  laid  before  us,  cleanly  enough,  on 
sweet-smelling  bark  freshly  peeled  from  one  of  the  greai 
birch -trees  near  by.  It  was  flat  for  the  want  of  salt,  bui 
we  were  too  hungry  to  be  over-nice,  and  our  spirits  re- 
vived with  the  comfort  of  our  meal.  Then,  wearied  out, 
I  laid  my  head  on  Lucy's  lap  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

lOG 


THE    BAIE    DES    CHALEUKS 


rcai 
but, 
re- 
out, 


I  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  voices  raised  in  discus- 
sion, and,  to  my  amazement,  I  saw  in  the  light  of  the 
fire  a  man  in  the  garb  of  a  priest.  Instead  of  a  hat  he 
wore  a  tight  -  fitting  cap,  his  soutane  was  rusty  and 
patched  in  many  places,  and  his  feet  were  shod  with 
moccasins  like  the  Indians.  To  my  dismay,  instead  of 
the  accents  which  I  expected,  he  was  speaking  to  the 
chief  in  the  same  guttural  tongne  as  his  own  ;  yet  his 
very  gown  was  a  protection,  and  I  rose  and  went  to  him 
without  hesitation. 

*'  Oh,  father  !  You  have  been  sent  in  answer  to  our 
prayers.     Thank  God,  we  are  safe  !" 

He  started  at  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and  stared  at  me 
for  what  seemed  a  long  time  without  a  word.  "  Yes, 
you  are  safe,"  he  said,  at  length,  but  in  halting  English  ; 
"these  Indians  will  do  you  no  harm.  They  will  carry 
you  to  some  post  farther  south,  whence  word  will  be 
sent  to  your  friends  among  the  English,  and  you  will  be 
ransomed.     Yes,  you  are  safe." 

'•'  0,  mon  pore,"  I  implored,  breaking  into  French, 
for  I  saw  that  was  his  tongue,  *^  do  not  speak  so  !  You 
will  not  leave  us  with  them  !  For  the  sake  of  the  moth- 
er who  bore  you,  listen  to  me  !"  and  I  threw  myself  on 
my  knees  and  stretched  out  my  hands  to  him,  but  he 
drew  back  as  if  my  touch  would  have  hurt  him.  "  Do 
not  forsake  us  ;  take  us  with  you  !  We  are  women,  and 
are  helpless.  I  do  not  desire  to  reach  any  English  post. 
I  have  no  friends  among  tlie  English.  Do  not  abandon 
us  to  these  men  ;  we  are  both  women,  and  I  am  a  lady." 

"I  see  that,"  he  said,  more  softly.  "Where  do  you 
wish  to  go  ?" 

"  To  Louisbourg,  mon  pere  ;  our  ship  was  bound  there 
when  we  were  carried  off." 

"■  Had  you  any  friends  on  board  the  ship  ?" 

"My  woman  had  her  son." 

"  ilave  you  a  husband,  or  a  brother,  in  Louisbourg  ?" 

107 


I "»' 


:■' 


li^ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


'\\ 


1,1 


1  I 


9 


iti 


M 


- 


My  face  flamed  scarlet  at  the  unexpected  question,  but 
I  answered  tliat  1  had  not,  without  further  explanation. 

*'  Then  you  cannot  go  to  Louidbourg.  It  is  quite  im- 
possible," he  declared,  with  authority.  ''  Louisbourg  is 
no  place  for  women  at  any  time,  least  of  all  now.  The 
important  matter  is  to  set  you  free  from  these  savages, 
but  you  may  rest  without  alarm  to-night,  and  I  will  de- 
cide what  is  to  be  done  before  morning." 

He  spake  these  last  words  wearily,  like  a  man  who  had 
received  a  hurt,  which  moved  my  heart  towards  him  in 
quick  pity,  and  I  waited  to  see  if  he  would  speak  again, 
but  he  only  raised  his  hand  and  blessed  me. 

Lucy  received  my  report  with  her  usual  quiet ;  even 
the  tidings  that  we  were  not  to  go  to  Louisbourg  did  not 
disturb  her.  "  He  knows  better  than  we,  and  he  will  be 
guided  in  all  his  decisions." 

Despite  the  assurances  of  our  safety,  we  neither  of  us 
closed  our  eyes  that  night.  Apart  from  the  anxiety  as 
to  our  destination,  the  strangeness  of  our  situation,  the 
crackling  of  the  fire,  and  the  uncanny  noises  of  the 
forest  kept  us  at  such  a  tension  that  sleep  was  impos- 
sible, and  we  were  awake  before  any  of  our  captors  were 
astir. 

I  looked  eagerly  for  the  jiriest,  and  saw  him  kneeling 
at  a  little  distance,  absorbed  in  his  morning  devotions. 
Thereupon  we  withdrew  quietly  to  the  river,  and  soon 
returned,  greatly  refreshed,  to  find  the  whole  camp  afoot, 
and  the  priest  awaiting  us  at  the  water's  edge.  Going 
directly  to  him,  I  asked,  "  Mon  pere,  what  have  you  de- 
cided ?" 

'•^That  you  go  with  me,"  he  said,  quietly.  And  I 
turned  to  Lucy,  but  she  had  already  caught  the  joyous 
message  of  our  deliverance  from  my  face. 

108 


;;■ 


CHAPTER  XIII 


LE   PERE   JEAN,    MI.SSIOXAR\    TO   THE   INDIANS 

Tiiorr.ii  the  priest  spake  witft  confidence,  I  judged  ho 
had  no  small  difficulty  in  persuading  the  savages  to  part 
with  us,  for  there  was  much  discussion  aud  apparently 
grumbling  on  the  part  of  the  chief  ;  but  at  length  the 
obstacle,  whatever  it  was,  was  overcome,  and  the  priest 
announced  we  Avere  free  to  depart. 

"My  canoe  is  small  for  four  people,  and  would  bo  too 
heavy  wlien  we  begin  the  ascent  of  the  Matapediac,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  will  borrow  another  from  the  savages,  with 
two  men  to  puddle.  Explain  to  your  woman  that  she  is 
to  go  with  my  servant  Andre  in  the  one,  and  you  will 
follow  in  the  other  with  me.  She  need  have  no  fear; 
Andre  is  to  be  trusted  in  all  things." 

These  matters  being  settled;  we  were  made  spectators 
to  surely  the  strangest  sight  my  eyes  had  ever  looked 
upon.  Andre  brought  forth  a  small  folding-table,  and 
the  priest,  still  in  his  rusty  soutane,  recited  the  holy 
office  of  the  mass  to  the  kneeling  savages  under  the 
shade  of  the  great  pines,  and  only  the  ripple  of  the  water 
broke  the  pauses  in  the  service.  To  my  astonishment, 
the  Indians  recited  the  Venite,  but  this  was  the  extent 
of  their  knowledge,  apart  from  the  Pater-Noster,  the 
Confiteor,  and  some  of  the  responses. 

When  the  service  was  ended  we  breakfa^'ted  heartily, 
and,  as  soon  as  the  priest's  preparations  were  nuide,  we 
embarked  with,  oh,  such  different  hearts  from  yester- 
day ! 

109 


i     1  % 


! 


i  11 


i 


FT- 


)% 


THE    SPAN    0»   LIFE 

Now  that  our  anxiety  was  at  rest,  I  had  time  to  ob^ 
servo  the  priest  more  closely.  Though  his  figure  was 
sliglit,  it  moved  to  the  dip  of  his  paddle  like  that  of  a 
man  vigorous  iu  all  exercise  ;  his  long,  thin  hands  were 
full  of  strength  ;  and  his  face,  thougii  worn,  and  burned 
to  almost  as  dark  a  colour  as  that  of  an  Indian,  was  that 
of  a  man  who  must  have  been  handsome  in  his  youth. 
At  his  age  I  could  not  even  guess,  beyond  that  he  looked 
old  with  his  scanty  beard  and  long  white  hair,  which  fell 
almost  to  his  shoulders.  We  sat  face  to  face  as  he 
paddled  in  the  stern  of  the  canoe,  and  I  marvelled  at 
the  wild  grandeur  of  the  river  and  forest,  which  I  had 
barely  marked  before. 

"  It  is  beautiful — yes,  very  beautiful,"  he  said,  pres- 
ently, noticing  my  admiration ;  '*  but  it  wears  another 
face  in  winter ;  then  it  is  even  terrible." 

"  Have  you  been  long  among  these  people,  mon  pure  ?'* 

"vio  long,  that  I  know  their  tongue  like  our  own  ;  I 
know  their  faults  and  virtues,  which  are  also  like  our 
own,  but  more  simple,  more  direct;  so  long,  that  some- 
times I  forget  I  ever  knew  anything  different.  But 
come,  my  daughter,  I  can  tell  my  story  at  any  time, 
while  you  cannot  have  a  better  opportunity  than  the 
present  to  tell  me  yours,  which  I  must  know  if  I  am  to 
be  of  service  to  you.  The  man  behind  you  cannot  un- 
derstand a  Avord  of  French,  so  you  may  speak  freely." 

Though  I  foresaw  some  explanation  on  my  part  would 
be  necessary,  I  had  so  far  hardly  looked  upon  the  man 
before  me  as  other  than  our  rescuer,  one  of  our  own 
blood  and  habit  and  tongue ;  but  now  it  was  the  priest, 
and,  more  than  that,  my  equal,  for  he  invited  my  con- 
fidence not  by  right  of  his  office  but  by  right  of  his 
equality,  for  gentle  I  divined  him  to  be  ;  and  at  his  de- 
mand 1  was  sore  confused,  for  I  knew  that  questionings 
must  follow  which  had  been  spared  me  on  shipboard. 

'* My  father,"  I  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "I 

110 


"  THK  PKIE8T   UECITED  THE   HOLY   OFFICE   OF   THE   MASS   ' 


i 


1 1 


Ifli 

.i    ^H 

'  ii 


I'B   PJ&RE   JEAV 

A   Know  many  secrpf«.    r    i        \ 
«  ones,  ,„y  J,     ,.f„    ^;;'  '  J   Imvo  ,„te„cd    to  many 

'  '■•''  .t  c„,„o.,  of  your  o,v«   ,.  0  ,m  ""","  "'"  '"-'^  ^-o'-^l 
»f  my  office."  '  '""'  '""'  "»J  not  on  account 

Once  I  hpo-.in    u 

ha<  go„e  far,  I  kucw  liL  f  '  f "''  •■""'  f-ofo'e  I 

,    When  I  told  ,,;,„ '„,  2  ;      p"","''"  ""''"■•stood, 
loneliness,  of  my    ^2^  Lo'™^  "",'"'•  "^  '"^  "«- 
"oa'-er  to  „,o  than  all  "fso  !n  t  ,  ""","'"  "'"•  «'ood 
"I"™".  "Poor  child  !  poor  Chi  [-"■'"'';''  \  """«'"  "'« 
'I'PP'Jig  paddio,  and  tliolp  l.  ,  "'  ''"  '"■•">■  "'or  his 

coaled  the  last  doo    of    .v  h ^  """1"  "*  '>-'>'l'"t''y  "u 
^«t  reserve  :    Ho,,'  j.'I  '""'''',  ""^  I  told  him  all  with 
tonco  from   her     aui    [  f '''■"'  'i^;''  ''"-^'-'o''  1-er  i„rori 
""'•held  from  ^2^\^'^  ^"S''-    ''ec.so  he  Z 
'"'"Oh  wonld  have  boon  felt  bv  tv^  "/''"'"  "'  <l»''«"'y 
«"ol.  offence  at  this  dn  i„7her  n    '  ''T  ^''^  ''"<•  '"'^on 
"0.  sl-e  had  altercl  he       Tl      '    i'T''  """'  ""'^"°'"'  '» 
oven  of  her  former  rM-^    ^        ^   "™"''> ''opriving  him 
""ioh  had  preventei  C  tZl    T  ",'°  '"""'  '^'-^ 
'"Oman  separated  hin.  f  om'*'     ^      ^   'i^  wealthy  kins^ 
separation  from  Lady  Jane^^M       '"'  ^'"'^ '"'^  fi-'st 
nuncation  of  his  own  int^s    to  "  ™'""'"y  '-o- 

Posed  wonld  be  my  hann  n!..!  .  """"'"  ""''"t  'lo  s„n. 
i;orformed  a  hnn.UdtSc;  '»,:.  ''V""''  '''  "^  -^o, 
nul  been  the  delight  of  Ulv  ,;,  f^  '"  ''^or  day^ 
U'ose  things  so  ,vorked  o  me  .;/"?  <'<'»»'"  ^  ''0>v  all 
would  neither  speak  nor  com   ,„      '\  ^'""'"'S  my  love 

a  1  0  her  considerations    a  e  t  m 7     '"l"  "'™'™  -'''o 
restitution  to  one  so  „n;    »,  ^  "'"^  bound  to  mako 

-ffored  for  m;:ake."%":'^,::;7^ed   and  who  h^  L' 

e^ery  barrier  convention  had    et  „n      ^?''"'  "'""■«'> 

jjj         np.  and,  snre  in  his 


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THE    SPAN    0*   LIFE 


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!    . 

bl 


II 


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IS 


ii 


affection,  I  had  come  forth  alone  under  an  assumed 
name;  "for  I  am  no  Madame  de  St.  Just,  mon  pi^re, 
but  Margaret  Nairn,  and  he  whom  I  love  is  Hugh  Max- 
well, in  garrison  at  Louisbourg. 

"  I  know,  mon  p^re,  that  many  will  point  the  finger  of 
shame  at  me  ;  will  say  I  am  without  decorum  and  with- 
out pride.  But,  my  father,  I  had  been  living  without 
the  love  for  which  my  soul  had  hungered  all  these  years, 
until  the  want  became  so  strong  that  it  swept  away  all 
the  petty  rules  of  life  and  humbled  my  pride  in  the  dust. 
I  came  because  1  could  not  stay,  and  now  my  one  prayer 
is  to  find  him." 

When  I  finished,  he  was  silent  for  a  long  time.  "  My 
child,"  he  said,  at  last,  *'tliat  you  have  greatly  dared, 
I  need  not  tell  you.  But  you  know  nothing  of  the  pain, 
the  misconstruction,  the  evil  report  to  w.  ch  you  have 
exposed  yourself. 

**  These  '  petty  rules,'  as  you  style  the  barriers  which 
society  has  established,  are  tlie  safeguards  of  men  and 
women  in  all  their  relations,  and  these  you  have  chosen 
to  disregard.  For  this  sin  against  the  social  law  you 
will  suffer  as  surely  as  you  would  for  any  infraction  of 
that  law  which,  because  it  is  higher,  we  call  divine. 
You  have  only  begun  to  realise  it,  because  you  have  now 
met  W'th  one  of  those  disarrangements  we  name  *  acci- 
dent.' Your  plan,  had  it  not  been  for  this,  would  have 
carried  you  safely  to  Louisbourg,  where  you  were  to  have 
met  and  married  M.  de  Maxwell ;  but  now  your  whole 
design  is  overthrown ;  Louisbourg  is  an  impossibility ; 
you  are  going  in  an  opposite  direction.  Again,  up  to  the 
present  you  have  only  iueu  with  your  inferiors,  to  whom 
you  owed  no  explanation  of  your  position,  but  now  the 
first  man  you  meet  happens  to  belong  to  your  own  class, 
and  your  isolation  is  no  longer  possible.  Being  a  woman 
of  high  courage  and  principle,  you  have  revealed  to  him 
your  position  in  all  its  helplessness.     But  are  you  pre- 


LE    PfiRE    JEAN 


3> 
III 


pared  to  do  the  like  when  you  meet  the  next  person  to 
wliom  an  explanation  is  due  ?  Can  you  again  say,  *  I  am 
Margaret  Nairn  come  out  to  meet  my  lover '  ?" 

"  Oh,  my  father,  my  father  !"  I  cried,  with  a  bewilder- 
ing shame  at  my  heart,  and  tears  which  I  could  not 
repress  filling  my  eyes.  "  How  could  I  foresee  this  ? 
Everything  seemed  so  plain.  I  was  no  longer  a  young 
girl,  but  a  woman  grown,  with  all  a  woman's  strength  of 
love,  when  the  death  of  Lady  Jane  left  me  without  a  soul 
to  whom  I  could  turn,  save  him  to  whom  I  had  given  my 
first  and  only  love.  I  had  been  denied  all  its  expression 
at  the  time  I  most  longed  for  it ;  I  was  deprived  of  its 
support  when  I  most  needed  it,  through  the  mistaken 
sense  of  honour  which  drove  into  exile  the  gentlest  and 
most  devoted  of  men.  He  was  not  one  to  push  his  own 
interest  at  any  time,  and  now  that  I  am  burdened  with 
this  undesired  fortune,  his  pride  would  fasten  the  door 
between  us.  It  seemed  to  mo — I  thought — that  I  could 
come  to  him  and  say,  '  See,  I  bring  back  what  was  yours 
by  right.'  Then,  I  had  no  doubts,  no  hesitations ;  but 
now,  they  crowd  in  upon  me  when  I  am  alone,  and  at 
times  I  cannot  keep  my  heart  from  sinking.  I  am  not 
afraid,  but  I  am  in  a  dark  place,  and  I  know  not  where 
to  turn  for  light." 

'*  Go  to  Her  who  has  known  sorrow  above  all  women, 
my  daughter.  Each  of  us  will  think  this  over  in  such 
light  as  we  may  find,  and  will  decide  as  we  may  be  guid- 
ed. Meantime  do  not  waste  your  strength  or  courage  in 
unavailing  regrets  or  reproaches.  Remember  this  poor 
woman  with  you  has  her  own  trial  and  anxiety.  Give 
her  your  sympathy  and  your  help.  Much  may  come  to 
us  through  our  own  effort,  if  it  be  for  another." 

When  we  made  our  camp  that  night,  Lucy  and  I,  much 
to  our  delight,  were  allowed  to  take  a  share  in  the  prep- 
aration of  the  meal,  and  afterwards  we  sate  before  the 
H  113 


•  i 


.1:1 


5 
i  IJ 


p 


li 


fn 


''k .  ( 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

blazing  fire,  while  the  priest  told  ns  of  his  life  among 
the  roving  Indians,  of  their  strange  customs  and  stranger 
beliefs,  of  their  patient  endurance  in  times  of  want,  of 
their  despair  when  disease  made  its  appearance  in  their 
lodges,  and  of  the  ruin  wrought  among  tiiem  by  the 
white  man's  traffic  in  strong  waters.  **  For  the  Indian 
it  is  no  question  of  F^rench  or  English  ;  whichever  con- 
quers, he  must  go — nay,  is  passing  even  now — with  only 
such  feeble  hands  as  mine  to  point  the  way  of  his  going." 
And  there  were  tears  in  his  voice  as  he  spake. 

Before  we  parted  for  the  night  I  asked  by  what  name 
we  might  address  him. 

"  Le  pere  Jean,"  he  answered. 

''  That  is  not  difficult  to  remember,"  I  said,  smiling. 

"  Which  is  important,  my  daughter,  for  it  has  to  serve 
me  from  Gaspe  to  Michilimacinac.  There  is  but  little 
danger  of  cciifusion  in  the  names  of  missionaries,"  ho 
added, sadly ;  "the  labourers  are  Tew." 

When  we  left  him  I  was  glad  to  find  that  even  Lucy's 
strict  views  were  not  proof  against  his  simple  goodness. 
I  had  feared  the  very  fact  of  his  priestly  office  would 
have  prejudiced  her,  for  I  knew  her  sect  made  little  of 
much  the  older  religions  held  sacred  ;  but  in  speaking  of 
him  afterwards  she  simply  said  : 

'*  The  Lord  is  wiser  than  we.  He  knows  what  vessels 
to  choose  for  His  service." 

W^e  were  so  tired,  and  there  was  such  a  sense  of  se- 
curity in  our  new  keeping,  that  v/c  w^cre  asleep  before 
we  knew  ;  but  during  the  night  I  fell  into  a  strange 
dream,  which  so  distressed  me  that  I  awoke,  with  tears 
streaming  down  my  face.  Vihiit  it  Avas,  I  could  not  clear- 
ly gather,  but  with  the  awakening  came  my  sorrow 
afresh,  and  I  lay  staring  up  into  the  blackness  with 
wide-open  eyes. 

Presently  I  heard  Lucy's  soft  whisper,  "Dear  heart, 
what  is  the  matter  ?" 

114 


LE    PfiRE    JEAN 


'*  Lucy,  why  are  you  awake  ?" 

"  Christopher,"  she  answered.  "  T  know  my  boy  is  in 
sore  trouble  on  my  account,  and,  alas,  he  has  not  my 
faith  to  support  him." 

'*  I'ucy,"  I  whispered,  after  a  pause,  "  I  have  been 
selfish.  In  my  own  trouble  I  have  not  remembered 
yours." 

''  Why  should  you,  mistress  ?"  she  said,  simply.  **  You 
have  been  good  to  me,  beyond  what  one  in  my  condition 
has  any  right  to  expect.  My  trouble  can  have  no  claim, 
when  you  are  burdened,  perhaps  even  beyond  your 
strength." 

It  was  strange  she  should  remember  the  difference  be- 
tween us  at  such  a  time.  To  me,  we  were  simply  two 
women  suffering  a  common  sorrow  in  our  severance  from 
those  most  dear  to  us,  and  I  longed  to  take  her  in  my 
arms  and  tell  her  all  my  pain.  Had  she  been  a  mere 
servant,  I  might  have  done  so,  if  only  for  the  comfort  of 
crying  together  ;  but  she  was  too  near  my  own  class,  and 
yet  not  quite  of  it,  to  permit  me  to  take  this  solace.  So 
we  talked  quietly  for  a  space,  and  then  fell  once  more  to 
sleep. 

115 


i-r^ 


•.» 


If 


CHAPTER  XIV 


I  AM  DIRECTED  INTO  A   NEW   PATH 


n 


1-^ 


i^n 


'  I  ii 


I 


i%\ 


The  following  morning,  when  we  resumed  onr  quiet 
way  in  the  canoe,  le  pero  Jean  asked,  "  Well,  my  daugh- 
ter, did  any  light  come  to  you  through  the  darkness  ?" 

"  No,  my  father,  but  I  have  found  a  little  quiet." 

"  That  is  much.  Now  I  shall  ask  you  to  listen  to  me 
patiently,  for  1  may  say  much  with  wliicli  you  will  not 
agree,  but  you  will  trust  me  that  I  only  say  that  which 
I  know  to  be  best.  We  have  every  reason  to  believe  a 
serious  descent  will  be  made  on  Louisbourg  in  the 
spring,  so  that,  apart  from  any  other  reason,  your  pres- 
ence in  a  town  which  will  in  all  probability  suffer  a  bom- 
bardment, would  be  unwise  and  undesirable  in  the  last 
degree.  You  have  no  idea  of  what  war  actually  means  ; 
it  is  a  horror  that  would  haunt  you  to  your  dying  day." 

'^But,  my  father,  in  that  case  I  should  at  least  be  by  his 
side.     That  in  itself  would  mean  everything  to  us  both." 

"  That  is  a  point  I  had  not  intended  to  touch  on,  my 
daughter.  I  know  the  world.  I  know  that  men,  ban- 
ished to  such  exile  as  tliat  in  which  M.  do  Maxwell  has 
lived,  change  much  with  the  years.  Think  how  you  have 
changed  yourself,  in  happier  surroundings  than  he  has 
known.  Think  what  new  connections  he  may  have 
formed.     Did  you  never  think  that  he — " 

**  Oil,  my  father,  what  would  you  tell  me  ?  Do  you 
know  M.  de  Maxwell  ?'' 

"  I  have  never  been  in  Louisbourg,"  he  answered, 
somewhat  coldly,  as  if  my  earnestness  had  hurt  him. 

110 


I    AM    DIRECTED    INTO    A    NEW    PATH 


WBH 


>» 


''  But  yon  do  not  mean  that  he  may  be  married  ?* 

"  He  may  be.     It  would  surely  not  be  unnatural. 

"  It  might  not  in  another  man,  but  in  him  it  would 
be  impossible.     He  is  not  v.s  other  men." 

*'  May  I  inquire,  my  daughter,  if  he  ever  asked  yon  in 
marriage  ?" 

"  No,  my  father  ;  I  told  you  how  he  was  situate.  Be- 
sides, my  guardian  then  wished  me  to  marry  another." 

"  And  you  would  not  ?" 

*'  I  did  not,"  I  answered,  Avith  some  little  hauteur,  for 
I  held  this  was  beside  the  matter,  and  a  subject  on  which 
even  he  had  no  right  to  question  me. 

"  Well,  that  can  make  but  little  difference  now,"  he 
said,  after  a  short  pause.  "  What  does  make  the  differ- 
ence is  that  Louisbourg  is  an  impossibility  for  you  at  the 
present.  Your  best  course  is  to  go  on  to  Quebec.  I  shall 
give  you  letters  to  M.  de  Montcalm,  who  is  so  old  and 
intimate  a  friend  that  I  may  ask  him  any  favour.  He 
will  see  that  you  have  passage  in  the  first  fitting  vessel 
for  France.  In  order  that  you  may  not  be  subject  to 
embarrassing  surmises,  I  hold  your  best  plan  is  to  con- 
tinue to  style  yourself  Mme.  de  St.  Just ;  in  fact,  that 
has  now  become  a  necessity.  Once  in  Prance,  you  can, 
with  tlic  influence  at  your  command — for  I  will  see  that 
M.  de  Montcalm  furthers  your  desire — procure  the  re- 
call of  ]M.  do  Maxwell  in  the  spring,  and  so  realise  the 
dream  which  has  now  led  you  so  far  astray. 

"  Do  not  think  I  am  blaming  you  overmuch,"  he 
added,  quickly  ;  "you  have  been  led  astray  because  you 
could  not  see  as  the  world  sees.  Your  heart  and  motive 
were  pure,  were  generous,  but  none  the  less  are  you  sub- 
ject  to  those  rules  Avhich  govern  so  rigorously  the  class 
to  which  you  belong,  whose  very  existence  depends  on 
their  observance.  In  a  romance,  the  world  would  no 
doubt  have  wept  over  your  perplexities  ;  but  in  real  life, 
it  would  crush  you,  because  you  have  sinned  against  the 

117 


Jl 

til 


si ; 


1 


V 


h 


U 


iil 


^.t 


if  (      I 


;■,  / 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

only  code  it  acknowledges.  Yonr  purity  and  faithful- 
ness would  count  for  nothing.  Believe  me,  my  child,  I 
know  it  and  its  ways." 

So  it  was  decided ;  and  at  once  I  began  to  plan  with 
new  hope  for  the  desire  of  my  heart ;  and  such  was  the 
change  it  wrought  in  me  that  the  whole  world  took  on  a 
new  interest  to  my  eyes. 

For  the  first  time  I  realised  the  grandeur  of  the  river 
into  which  we  had  now  fully  entered  ;  the  sullen  sweep 
of  black  water  in  the  depths,  the  dance  of  silver  over  the 
shallows,  the  race  of  waves  down  the  rapids  between  its 
ever-changing  banks,  now  like  imprisjiiing  walls  with 
great  sombre  pines,  now  open  and  radian l  with  the  gold 
and  scarlet  of  the  maples,  marshalled  in  order  by  the 
white  lances  of  the  slender  birches. 

At  times  Lucy  and  I  were  allowed  to  walk  along  the 
reaches  of  level  sand  to  relieve  the  strain  on  the  pad- 
dlers,  where  tlie  river  ran  swift  and  strong,  and  when  we 
at  length  gained  the  great  stretch  of  the  lake  called 
Matapediac,  like  the  river,  my  heart  v/as  full  of  the 
beauty  and  charm  about  me. 

"  The  span  o'  Life'8  nae  lang  eneugh, 
Nor  deep  cueugb  the  sea, 
Nor  braid  eneugh  this  weary  warld, 
To  part  my  Love  frae  me,"  .  .  . 

I  sa.ng  in  my  heart,  for  was  it  not  all  so  wonderful,  so 
beyond  all  planning,  tliis  way  of  Love  ?  It  might  be 
long,  it  might  be  wearying,  but  it  would  lead  aright  in 
the  end. 

When  the  head  of  the  lake  was  reached,  the  canoes 
were  lifted  from  the  water  ;  that  of  the  strange  Indians 
was  left  behind,  but  ours  they  raised  on  their  shoulders, 
and,  Andre  carrying  the  scanty  baggage  of  the  priest,  we 
set  off  on  a  long  carry,  or  portage,  as  they  call  it.     This 

118 


I    AM    DIRECTED    INTO    A    NEW    PATH 


occupied  two  days,  as  the  path  was  difficult,  and  we 
found  a  sad  encumbrance  in  our  skirts,  which  suffered 
much  in  the  traverse.  We  took  the  water  again  at  a 
tiny  stream,  and  finally  gained  another,  called  the  Metis, 
leading  to  the  St.  Lawrence,  our  highway  for  Quebec. 
At  the  Metis  the  strange  Indians  left  us  and  returned  to 
join  their  fellows. 

Late  one  afternoon  le  pere  Jean  ran  the  canoe  inshore, 
and,  nothing  loath,  we  left  her  in  charge  of  Andre,  to 
follow  the  priest  up  the  high  bank  and  take  our  way  on 
foot  under  the  great  pines. 

A  low  breeze  was  moving  almost  silently  among  the 
trees,  bringing  an  unwonted  freshness  we  could  verily 
taste.  Soon  we  marked  the  screen  of  undergrowth,  which 
hid  the  sun,  grow  thinner  and  thinner,  until  his  rays  came 
shining  low  through  a  halo  of  golden  leaves,  with  gleams 
like  to  glancing  water.  Breathless,  we  hurried  on  until 
we  swept  aside  the  last  veil  and  found  ourselves  on  the 
open  cliff,  overlooking  mile  beyond  mile  of  dancing  water, 
which  the  setting  sun  covered  with  a  trail  of  glory  break- 
ing in  ripples  on  a  beach  of  golden  sand,  that  stretched 
below  the  cliff  on  which  we  stood. 

*'  Oh,  the  sea  !  the  sea  !"  I  cried,  sinking  to  the  ground, 
overwhelmed  by  the  flood  of  feeling  which  broke  upon 
me.  It  was  the  promise  of  a  new  world  of  light  and 
safety,  after  the  black,  swift  river  and  the  sombre  forest 
from  which  we  had  escaped. 

'*  No,  my  daughter,  not  the  sea ;  la  Grande  Rivi6re, 
the  St.  Lawrence  !"  said  le  p^re  Jean,  almost  reverently. 
"  Do  you  wonder  these  poor  Indians  worship  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  blessed  !  blessed  !  It  means  home  !  It  is 
like  to  heaven  !"  I  wliispered,  and  then  I  fell  a-crying 
with  very  happiness. 

Presently  Lucy  touched  me  on  the  shoulder.  "  See  I 
there  is  Andre  !"  And  below  we  saw  the  Indian  paddling 
out  into  the  open,     Ue  went  cutting  through  the  golden 

119 


•  1 


I 


I 

If 


n 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


11 '' 

¥ 

'■ 

i 

;     i 

I 


I 


'i 

■ .  i 


water  nntil  he  was  some  distance  from  the  shore,  when 
he  stood  upright,  gently  rocking  as  he  balanced,  gazing 
up  the  river.  Suddenly  he  crouched  down  again  and 
made  all  haste  towards  us,  crying,  as  he  came  within 
call:  "Monp6re!    Dufour!  Dufour!    Gabriel  Dufour !" 

'*  This  is  fortunate,  most  fortunate,"  exclaimed  the 
priest.  *'  It  will  save  us  many  a  weary  mile,  and  per- 
haps weeks  of  waiting.  Gabriel  is  a  pilot,  with  one  of 
the  best  boats  on  the  river,  and  your  way  to  Quebec  is 
now  easy.     It  could  not  have  fallen  out  better." 

"  *  One  of  those  disarrangements  we  name  Accident,* 
mon  p6re  ?"  I  said. 

"  No,  my  daughter  ;  when  we  are  schooled  sufficiently 
to  read  aright,  we  name  it  'Providence,'"  he  returned, 
gravely. 

We  took  our  places  in  the  canoe  once  more,  and  with 
deep,  long  strokes  she  was  forced  through  the  current 
across  the  mouth  of  the  stream.  We  disembarked  on  the 
farther  side,  and  all  made  our  way  out  to  the  end  of  the 
low  point,  which  stretched  far  into  the  wide  river.  My 
disappointment  was  great  when  I  could  make  out  noth- 
ing of  the  object  to  which  Andre  triumphantly  pointed, 
but  this  the  priest  pronounced,  without  hesitation,  to  be 
the  pilot's  boat. 

"  Andr6,  dry  wood,"  he  commanded ;  and  to  us  he 
added,  "You  can  help,  if  you  will." 

We  ran  back  to  where  a  fringe  of  bleached  drift-wood 
marked  the  line  of  the  highest  tides,  and  returned  with 
our  arms  laden  with  the  dry,  tindery  stuff.  Carefully 
selecting  the  smallest  pieces,  the  Indian  skilfully  built  a 
little  pile,  but  so  small  I  wondered  at  his  purpose.  The 
priest,  kneeling  by  it,  soon  had  it  alight,  and  kept  adding 
to  it  constantly,  while  Andr6'Van  off  again  to  return  with 
a  supply  of  green  brush  ;  by  this  time  a  heap  of  glowing 
coals  was  ready,  and  on  this  the  Indian  carefully  laid  his 
green  branches,  one  after  another.     In  a  few  minutes  a 

120 


rood 
Iwitli 
IfuUy 
lilt  a 
The 
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(wing 
Id  his 
tes  a 


I    AM    DIRECTED    INTO    A    NEW    PATU 

strong,  thick  smoke  arose,  and  went  cnrling  out  in  a  long 
thin  line  over  the  now  quiet  waters  of  the  river. 

Meantime  le  p6re  Jean  had  a  second  pile  of  wood  in 
readiness,  and  at  his  word  Andre  quickly  smothered  up 
the  first  with  sand,  and,  after  waiting  for  the  smoke  to 
drift  completely  away,  soon  had  a  second  thread  trailing 
out  after  the  first.  This  was  repeated  again,  and  the 
fire  extinguished  as  before. 

"  There,  my  daughter !  that  is  the  manner  in  which 
we  sometimes  send  a  message  in  this  country,  and  the 
answer  will  be  the  appearance  of  Maitre  Gabriel  himself 
by  the  morning." 

We  then  withdrew  to  the  shelter  of  the  wood,  for  the 
smoothest  sand  makes  but  a  sor^y  bed,  and  made  our 
camp  for  the  night. 

After  OHr  meal,  le  pdre  Jean  bade  Andre  pile  more 
drift-wood  on  our  fire,  and,  producing  the  little  journal 
in  which  he  kept  the  brief  record  of  his  labours,  as  re- 
quired by  his  Order,  he  fell  to  writing. 

**  Here,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished,  handing  mo 
the  folded  paper,  '*is  your  letter  to  my  good  friend  M. 
de  Montcalm.  It  is  not  over-long,  as  paper  is  much  too 
precious  to  waste  in  compliments  ;  I  have  used  so  much, 
as  it  is,  in  fully  explaining  your  position,  so  that  you 
may  not  be  exposed  to  embarrassing  inquiries;  in  demand- 
ing his  fullest  assistance,  so  that  you  may  be  under  the 
lightest  personal  obligation,  that  I  have  left  no  space  to 
set  forth  your  future  movements  ;  these  you  must  your- 
self lay  before  him,  and  so  spare  me  the  sacrifice  of  an- 
other page  of  my  precious  journal." 

The  next  morning,  as  the  priest  had  foretold,  we  were 
awakened  by  Andre's  announcement  of  the  pilot's  arrival, 
and  before  long,  Gabriel  Dufour  was  presented  in  due 
form.  He  was  a  stout,  thick  -  set  man,  much  reddened 
by  exposure,  with  his  dark  hair  gathered  into  a  well-oiled 

131 


I 


^^i 


IP 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


:r.  / 


HH. 


Vt 


pigtail,  comfortably  dressed  in  grey,  home  -  spun  jacket 
and  breeches,  with  bright  blue  stockings,  and  a  short 
canvas  apron,  like  to  the  fishermen  in  France. 

He  at  once  expressed  himself  ready  to  take  us  to 
Quebec. 

"  What  day  have  you  chosen  for  your  return,  Gabriel  ?" 
asked  le  p6re  Jean. 

*'  Qui  choisit,  prend  lo  pire,  men  p6re.  All  days  are 
alike  for  me.  Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday,  I  find 
much  the  same  as  Thursday,  Friday,  Saturday.  I  can 
start  to-day,  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after  that,  as  madame 
may  say." 

"  Then  I  shall  speak  for  madame,  and  say  to-day,"  re- 
turned the  priest ;  and  added,  in  his  quiet  way  :  **  I  bid 
you  beware  of  Master  Gabriel's  fair  words,  madame.  To 
quote  from  his  favourite  proverb,  *  il  est  ne  dimanche,  il 
aime  besogne  faite,*  he  will  promise  you  anything." 

"  'Ce  que  femme  veut,  Dieu  le  veut,'  mon  pere,"  he 
answered,  laughing.  "Well,  I  am  ready  at  once,  if 
madame  can  support  the  poverty  of  my  poor  cabin." 

"Ah,  Maitre  Gabriel,  if  you  knew  how  much  your 
care  will  mean  to  us,  you  would  make  no  apologies." 

"  Come,  come,  Gabriel !  No  more  proverbs,  no  more 
delays,"  exclaimed  le  p^re  Jean,  and,  as  the  pilot  hurried 
off  to  his  shallop,  he  took  both  my  hands  in  his. 

"  My  child,  remember  God  goes  with  you  by  land  and 
water,  by  day  and  night,  and  He  will  surely  bring  you 
to  the  goal  which  He  alone  can  see,"  and  then  he  raised 
his  hand,  and  I  knelt  while  he  blessed  us  both. 

122 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE   MARQUIS   DE   MONTCALM-GOZON   DE   ST.  VERAN 

In  Mattre  Gabriel  I  found  a  type  I  could  readily  un- 
derstand ;  he  was  very  shrewd,  very  curious,  with  a  pas- 
sion for  questioning,  but  so  honest  and  childlike  that  he 
took  no  offence  at  any  rebuff.  He  was  a  thorough  sailor, 
a  martinet  to  his  little  crew,  vain  of  his  skill  and  boast- 
ful of  his  courage,  and  confident  of  the  showing  he  and 
his  fellow-Canadians  would  make  against  "  les  goddams," 
should  they  venture  to  appear. 

He  insisted  on  hearing  the  story  of  our  capture  in  de- 
tail, and  seemed  much  more  amused  at  the  address  of 
the  Indians  than  distressed  at  our  misfortune. 

*'They  were  good  fellows,  after  all,  madame.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  them,  you  would  not  have  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  le  pere  Jean.  But,  bedame  !  I  cannot  un- 
derstand why  he  should  send  yoli  to  Quebec  when  he 
knew  you  were  bound  for  Louisbourg.  A  priest,  no 
doubt,  knows  much,  but  I  can  tell  you,  madame,  if  you 
came  to  me  and  whispered  •'  Louisbourg,'  it  would  not  be 
by  way  of  Quebec  I  should  send  you.  If  you  have  any 
reason  to  be  there,  there  is  no  time  like  the  present,  for 
the  English  are  on  their  way  thither  even  now  ;  and  if 
they  are  frightened  away  by  our  ships,  they  will  be  back 
in  the  spring  ;  take  my  word  for  it  !" 

"But,  Gabriel,  le  p6re  Jean  spake  as  if  nothing  was  to 
be  feared  from  any  attempt  they  might  make  at  present." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  they  may  try  it,  all  the  same. 
They  have  been  in  Halifax  for  months  past,  and  only 

123 


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4    I 

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1  •(■ 


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Ml 


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I  Mi 


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m 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

sailed  in  August.  I  do  not  tliitik  it  will  come  to  any- 
thing myself,  but  by  the  spring  all  the  music  will  he  on 
hand,  and  the  dancing  before  Louisbourg  will  begin  in 
earnest.  But  pardon,  madame  ;  I  forgot  you  had  friends 
there,  or  I  would  not  have  let  my  tongue  run  on  so." 

**  No,  no,  frabriel ;  I  wish  to  hear  all  y(*u  have  learned. 
Why  is  it  impossible  to  go  to  Louisbourg  ?" 

'*  Hedame  !  I  never  said  it  was  iuipossible  to  go  to 
Louisbourg,  madame ;  mais,  '  qui  se  tient  i\  Paris,  no 
sera  jamais  pape,'  and  your  face  is  not  in  the  right  di- 
rection. If  you  would  be  there,  madame,  T  would  en- 
gage to  find  you  a  way  in  the  teeth  of  all  '  les  goddams ' 
who  ever  chewed  rosbif.  But  I  forget ;  we  are  going 
to  Quebec,"  ho  ended,  slyly,  evidently  desirous  that  I 
should  talk. 

This,  however,  I  would  not  do,  but  he  had  given  me 
matter  enough  to  keep  me  awake  by  night  and  set  me 
anxiously  dreaming  by  day. 

Why  had  the  priest  been  so  determined  to  keep  me 
from  Louisbourg  ?  Now  that  I  thought  it  over,  I  saw 
that  I  had  never  urged  my  wish  at  all.  I  had  allowed 
my  whole  purpose  to  be  swept  aside  at  his  first  firm  re- 
fusal to  consider  my  request.  And  all  this  time  Hugh 
was  in  danger,  while  I  had  turned  my  back  upon  him. 
If  not  in  danger  now,  he  certainly  would  be  in  the  spring, 
and  all  my  effort,  with  those  weary  miles  of  sea  again  be- 
tween us,  would  be  unavailing  for  his  recall.  Indeed,  he 
would  probably  refuse  to  leave  his  post  if  it  were  threat- 
ened by  an  enemy.  Why  had  I  consented  ?  Why  was  I 
even  now  lengthening  the  heart-breaking  distance  be- 
tween us  with  every  coward  mile  I  travelled  ?  Why  had 
I  not  pleaded  with  le  pere  Jean,  instead  of  obeying  blind- 
ly, like  a  child  ?  He  had  not  known  the  real  danger,  per- 
haps, or  his  advice  would  have  been  different. 

Could  I  have  spoken  freely  with  Lucy,  I  might  have 
gained  some  comfort ;  but,  alas  !  my  lips  were  sealed  tow- 

124 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.   VfiRAN 


ards  her.  How  conld  I  expect  her  to  understand  even 
if  I  could  spetik  ?  My  distress  she  would  readily  compre- 
hend, but  she  could  not  possibly  know  anything  of  such 
a  love  as  Hugh's ;  so  I  was  forced  to  take  the  sympathy 
of  her  silent  companionship,  making  her  such  return  as 
I  might. 

Gabriel,  I  grew  almost  afraid  of ;  he  questioned  me  so 
cunningly,  without  seeming  to  do  so,  that  I  was  in  con- 
stant dread  lest  I  should  betray  my  secret  and.  declare 
the  desire  which  was  consuming  me.  It  was  a  relief 
when  I  could  turn  his  curiosity  and  lead  him  to  talk  of 
his  own  life  and  the  places  we  passed  ;  for  the  wilderness 
of  hills  of  the  North  Shore,  to  which  we  had  crossed, 
was  broken  here  and  there  by  settlements,  as  at  Les 
Eboulements,  where  the  tiny  church  and  village  nestled 
by  the  water's  edge  at  the  foot  of  mountains  rising  and 
rolling  back  to  purple  heights  behind.  We  were  here 
shut  out  from  the  main  river  by  the  wooded  shores  of  the 
Isle  aux  Coudres,  which  Gabriel  regarded  with  peculiar 
pride,  as  somewhere  on  its  farther  side  stood  his  white- 
washed cottage,  where  his  wife  kept  her  lonely  guard 
during  his  long  absences,  and  spent  sleepless  watches  on 
wild  nights  in  autumn,  entreating  the  protection  of  St. 
Joseph  and  Our  Lady  of  Good  Help  for  her  man,  fight- 
ing for  life  somewhere  on  the  dangerous  waters. 

'*  She  must  be  very  strong  with  her  prayers,  ma  bonne 
fcmme,  for  every  time  I  have  come  safe  home— eh,  ma- 
rl "ne  ?" 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to  confirm  him  in  his  belief. 

The  next  morning  we  passed  the  wide  mouth  of  the 
iouffre  at  la  Bale  St.  Paul,  but  fortunately  without  ex- 
periencing its  formidable  wind,  and  early  in  the  after- 
noon we  saw  rising  before  us  the  purple  mass  of  Cap 
Tourmei]  .  We  stood  well  out  here  to  escape  the  strong 
current :  the  distance  before  us  lay  the  green  point 
of  the  '      .d  of  Orleans,  and  behind  it,  to  the  north,  Ga- 

125 


tl 


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THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


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briel  pointed  out  the  beautifully  rising  slopes  of  the  Cote 
de  Beaupr6,  with  the  pride  of  a  man  who  is  in  love  with 
his  country. 

But  soon  his  attention  became  <lxed  on  a  boat  of  better 
appearance  than  any  we  had  as  yet  seen,  standing  in  for 
the  zv",m  shore. 

*'Nc  fishing-boat  that!''  he  exclaimed.  "It  must  be 
some  of  the  officers  down  from  Quebec."  He  altered  our 
course  so  that  we  stood  in  to  intercept  her.  His  excite- 
ment grew  as  we  approached.  "  I  am  right,"  he  shout- 
ed. *'  She  is  the  yacht  from  Quebec.  I  must  go  on  board. 
They  will  wish  to  hear  wl  at  news  I  carry  from  below." 

As  soon  as  we  were  within  a  reasonable  distance  he 
made  some  signal  with  his  sail  and,  both  boats  staying 
their  way,  he  launched  his  shallop  over  the  side,  and 
quickly  rowed  to  the  stranger.  We  watched  him  with 
keen  interest,  especially  as  we  saw  thero  were  officers  on 
board.  Before  long  he  was  on  his  way  back  to  us,  and,  as 
soon  as  he  was  within  speaking  distance,  he  called  in  the 
greatest  excitement  : 

"  Oh,  niadame  !  On  board  there  is  his  Excellency,  M. 
de  Montcalm.  lie  wishes  to  see  you.  Pardon,  madame, 
pardon  if  I  say  hurry.     Do  not  keep  him  waiting." 

It  v/as  indeed  a  startling  summons,  and  the  last  I  was 
expecting,  but  I  accepted  it  without  hesitation,  and,  mak- 
ing such  slight  preparation  as  was  possible,  Gabriel  helped 
me  carefully  into  the  tossing  boat ;  and  put  such  heart 
into  his  rowing  that  in  a  few  moments  we  were  safely 
alongside  the  yacht,  and  a  strong  hand  was  iield  down  to 
me.  '*  Courage,  madame!  hold  firmly  and  step  slowly," 
and,  as  the  shallop  lifted,  I  stepped  lightly  on  the  deck, 
where  I  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  gentlemen. 

'*  Madame,"  said  one  of  them,  bowing,  "  I  am  Mon- 
sieur de  Montcalm,  and,  believe  me,  my  best  endeavours 
are  entirely  at  your  service  We  have  heard  something 
of  your  adventure  from  our  good  Maitre  Gabriel  here." 

126 


THE    MARQUIS    DE   ST.  VfiRAN 

**  Monsieur  le  marquis,  it  is  to  your  friend  le  p6re  Jean 
we  owe  our  safety,  and  he  has  added  to  my  obligation  by 
commending  me  to  your  care  in  this  letter,"  I  said,  hand- 
ing him  the  precious  billet. 

*' Any  lady  in  your  position,  madame,  would  command 
my  service  of  right,  but  such  a  recommendation  makes  it 
obligatory  ;  there  is  little  I  would  not  do  to  please  my 
friend  le  p6re  Jean." 

As  he  glanced  over  the  note,  I  had  opportunity  to  ob- 
serve him  more  closely.  I  had  often  heard  of  him  from 
Gaston  in  the  old  days,  for  they  had  been  friends  from 
boyhood,  and  had  don<}  much  campaigning  together  in 
Germany  and  elsewhere.  He  looked  worn,  like  a  man 
who  had  grown  old  before  his  time,  but  I  could  trace  the 
likeness  to  the  warm-hearted,  hot-headed  young  officer 
whom  I  had  so  often  pictured,  in  his  large  eyes,  which 
had  lost  nothing  of  their  youthful  fire,  and  in  his  smile, 
which  had  the  charm  that  does  not  disappear  with  years. 

*'  Madame  de  St.  Just,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished 
readmg,  **  I  can  spare  you  the  necessity  of  even  asking 
my  help,  and  must  not  lay  you  under  any  obligation 
greater  than  this  little  voyage  from  your  boat  to  mine,  to 
which  you  would  not  have  been  subject  had  I  known  of 
your  relation  to  my  friend  le  p6re  Jean.  He  tells  me 
your  intention  was  to  have  gone  to  Louisbourg.  If  that 
be  still  your  desire,  madame,  1  can  at  least  spare  you  the 
journey  to  Quebec,  and  can  promise  you  an  easy  passage 
to  Louisbourg  as  soon  as  the  snow  makes  good  travelling, 
for,  in  Canada,  summer  is  no  time  for  a  long  journey 
across  country.  But  let  us  be  seated  and  talk  this  mat- 
ter over  quietly,"  and  he  waved  his  hand  towards  the 
stern  of  the  yacht,  where  some  of  the  officers  hastened  to 
arrange  their  cloaks  into  comfortable  seats. 

My  heart  was  in  tlie  strangest  commotion  as  I  saw  the 
drift  of  circumstance  that  was  sweeping  me  onward, 
without  effort  on  my  part,  towards  the  end  I  most  de- 

127 


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THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

sired  ;  I  had  not  spoken,  and  here  was  the  arbiter  of  my 
fate  putting  into  words  all  that  I  dared  not  ask.  I  re- 
solved not  even  to  think,  but  to  leave  the  issue  m  his 
hands. 

'*  Had  you  ever  met  le  p6re  Jean  before,  madame  ?" 
he  resumed. 

"  No,  monsieur.  How  could  I  ?  But  I  cannot  help 
feeling  I  have  met  you.  I  was  wont  to  hear  your  name 
very  often  when  a  young  girl  ?" 

"  Indeed  ?    And  to  whom  did  I  owe  that  favour  ?" 

**  To  your  friend,  the  Vicomte  de  Trincardel." 

He  stared  at  me  as  if  in  great  amazement,  and  when  he 
spake  his  tone  was  that  of  a  man  deeply  puzzled. 

"  You  know  the  Vicomte  de  Trincardel  ?" 

'*  Assuredly,  monsieur — that  is,  I  did  know  him.  He 
was  a  frequent  visitor  at  my  guardian's  both  in  Paris  and 
London,"  and  then  I  stupidly  fell  to  blushing  like  a 
school-girl. 

"  Strange,  very  strange,'*  he  muttered,  in  an  absent 
manner. 

"•  No,  monsieur,  not  strange,"  I  answered,  for  I  could 
not  bear  ho  should  misunderstand  ;  "my  fi.mily  name  is 
Nairn,  and  my  guardian  was  the  late  Lady  Jane  Drum- 
mond." 

"  Oh,  pardon  me,  madame  ;  it  was  only  the  odd  chance 
of  my  meeting  with  you  that  I  marvelled  at.  But  it  is  a 
narrow  world,  after  all,  for  a  few  years  ago,  when  in  Italy, 
I  heard  of  vour  brother  from  the  Cardinal  York  :  he 
spake  of  him  in  terms  of  the  warmest  affection." 

*'  Ilelas  !  monsieur,  my  brother  is  dead  to  me.  He  has 
deserted  the  cause  to  which  I  and  mine  have  been  faith- 
ful ;  lie  now  holds  a  commission  in  the  English  army." 

"Again  I  must  ask  for  pardon  \  but  to  come  back  to 
your  plans.  Now  as  to  Louisbourg,  there  is  no  danger, 
madame,  either  on  the  journey  or  when  you  reach  there, 
provided  you  leave  again  before  spring.     You   can  be 

138 


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THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.  VfiRAN 


safely  back  in  Quebec  before  the  snows  go,  and  on  your 
way  to  France  by  the  first  ship,  long  ere  any  serious  dan- 
ger threatens.  I  am  taking  for  granted,  however,  that 
you  will  hardly  choose  to  remain  in  this  enchanting 
colony  longer  than  may  be  necessary.  Would  it  meet 
your  wish,  if  you  were  to  return  by  the  spring  ?'* 

"  Oh,  perfectly,  perfectly,  monsieur  I"  I  exclaimed, 
overjoyed  to  answer  a  question  which  presented  no  diffi- 
culties and  opened  out  a  way  before  me. 

"Then,  madame,  I  would  recommend  the  following 
plan  :  instead  of  going  on  to  Quebec,  by  which  you  will 
lose  little,  save  a  glimpse  at  a  society  which  is  not  without 
its  charm,  you  should  go  back  across  the  river  and  down 
as  far  as  Beaulieu,  where  you  will  find  Mme.  de  Saren- 
nes  and  her  charming  daughter  Angelique.  I  shall  give 
you  letters  which  will  ensure  you  a  welcome  and  a  shelter 
for  such  time  as  you  may  have  to  remain  under  her  care. 
Her  son  Charles,  who  is  a  noted  figure  in  the  colony,  will 
be  up  and  down  between  Louisbourg  and  Quebec  during 
the  winter,  and  I  will  see  that  he  takes  charge  of  you  and 
conducts  you  safely  on  your  journey. 

"And  now,  madame,  it  is  very  probable  that  you  are 
but  ill  supplied  with  money,  if  indeed  you  have  any. 
Pardon  my  frankness,  but  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your 
father,  and  I  know  the  awkwardness  of  such  a  position. 
If  I  be  correct,  I  am  sure  you  will  not  deny  me  the 
pleasure  of  helping  you." 

"  Monsieur,  your  kindness  needs  no  excuse  ;  but,  with 
a  thousand  thanks,  let  me  assure  you  I  am  well,  even 
abundantly  supplied,  as  I  had  nearly  all  my  money  sewn 
in  my  clothes  before  leaving,  and  I  do  not  foresee  any 
want  of  that  kind,  even  though  my  stay  be  longer  than 
now  appears  probable.  But  I  shall  be  most  grateful  for 
your  letter  to  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  and  it  shall  be  my  en- 
deavour not  to  prove  a  burthen  on  her  hospitality." 

*'  M.  de  Bougainville,"  he  said,  beckoning  to  one  of  his 
X  129 


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THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


ii 


officers,  "  will  yon  come  and  tell  Mme.  de  St.  Just  some- 
thing of  this  charming  country,  while  I  write  some  let- 
ters ?"  So  saying,  he  introduced  his  aide  to  me,  and 
stepped  into  the  cabin,  leaving  me  to  the  amusing  so- 
ciety of  his  officers.  The  moments  passed  quickly  until 
the. Marquis  reappeared  bearing  two  letters. 

"  Do  not  disappear,  gentlemen,  unless  it  be  to  seek  a 
glass  of  wine  in  which  to  wish  madame  *  bon  voyage.' 

**  This,  madame,"  he  said,  handing  me  one  of  the  let- 
ters, **  is  to  Mme.  de  Sarennes ;  but  with  it  I  have  taken 
care  to  enclose  that  of  le  pere  Jean,  for  our  good  Cana- 
dians, as  you  will  find,  attach  more  value  to  the  simple 
word  of  a  priest — and  in  this  instance  I  will  not  say  they 
are  wrong — than  to  the  command  of  any  lay  authority. 
His  letter  will  spare  you  all  explanations  with  the  moth- 
er, and  this  other  will  serve  as  an  order  for  that  gallant 
coureur  de  bois,  her  son,  when  he  puts  in  an  appearance, 
in  the  event  of  his  visiting  Beaulieu  before  I  see  him  in 
Quebec.  Let  me  assure  you,  farther,  that  you  have  only 
to  command  my  services,  should  you  need  them,  either 
before  or  after  you  may  reach  Louisbourg.  The  Cheva- 
lier de  Drucour,  I  am  persuaded,  will  be  only  too  ready  to 
do  me  a  service,  should  I  ask  it  either  on  my  behalf  or 
on  that  of  another.  I  shall  esteem  it,  if  you  will  con- 
sider yourself  as  under  my  protection." 

"  But,  monsieur,  what  claim  have  I  to  all  this  kind- 
ness ?"  I  asked,  overwhelmed  at  the  possibilities  I  saw 
before  me. 

**  You  are  the  friend  of  my  friend  ;  I  would  do  any- 
thing for  his  sake,"  he  answered,  simply,  disdaining  any 
of  those  compliments  which  would  so  readily  suggest 
themselves  to  a  man  of  less  nice  breeding. 

*'  I  am  sorry  we  cannot  offer  you  any  fitting  hospitality 
here,"  he  said,  as  he  rose.  Then,  turning  towards  the 
others,  he  added  :  **  Gentlemen,  I  am  apologising  for  our 
scanty  larder,  which  prevents  our  detaining  Mme.  de  St, 

130 


THE    MARQUIS    DE    ST.  VERAN 


Just  for  sapper.  M.  de  Bougainville,  as  a  mathematician, 
might  have  seen  to  a  less  exact  but  more  generous  pro- 
vision." 

'*  His  head  was  among  the  stars,"  explained  a  jovial- 
looking  officer,  in  a  rueful  tone,  "and  we  less-exalted 
mortals  are  the  losers,  alas  !" 

**  But  surely  we  have  somewhat  to  drink  to  the  success  of 
madame's  journey  ?"said  M.  de  Montcalm,  in  mock  alarm. 

*'  Assuredly,  mon  general !  I  at  least  was  not  star- 
gazing when  I  laid  in  the  Bordeaux.  I  can  even  provide 
a  glass  of  Frontignan  for  madame,"  responded  a  little 
bright-eyed  officer. 

**  Bravo,  Joannes  !"  laughed  the  general.  '*  Frontig- 
nan !  That  brings  back  the  whole  South,  madame ;  its 
very  name  makes  me  homesick.  Homesickness  makes 
us  all  young,  makes  us  all  little  children  again.  Ma  foi ! 
I  believe  that  is  why  the  Spaniard  pretended  the  Foun- 
tain of  Youth  was  to  be  found  in  the  New  World.  I 
defy  any  one  to  remain  here  and  not  have  perpetual 
youth,  if  my  theory  be  correct." 

"  But  at  least  madame  did  not  come  to  seek  it,"  re- 
sponded M.  de  Bougainville,  gallantly,  "and  we  are 
keeping  her  standing." 

Thereupon  they  touched  my  glass,  in  order,  each  with 
a  prettily  turned  wish  for  my  good  fortunes,  and  I  tasted 
the  sweet  wine  of  Frontignan  in  return  to  the  toast  they 
drank  together.  No  wishes  could  have  been  more  wel- 
come, and  the  little  friendly  ceremony  meant  much  to 
me  ;  indeed  my  heart  was  very  full  when  M.  de  Mont- 
calm bent  over  and  kissed  my  hand  as  he  helped  me  into 
the  shallop  and  we  pulled  ofE  into  the  dusk.  Did  I  need 
anything  further  to  set  my  uneasy  mind  at  rest,  I  found 
it  in  the  quiet  words  of  Lucy  when  I  told  her  of  the  out- 
come of  my  visit. 

**  Oh,  my  dear  mistress,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  full 
of  feeling,  "  He  hath  made  our  path  straight  to  our  feet  I" 

131 


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CHAPTER  XVI 


1^  ' 


AT  BEAULIETT 

Gabriel  altered  his  course  with  the  satisfaction  of  a 
man  confirmed  in  his  superior  judgment.  *"I1  y  a  re- 
mede  h  tout,  fors  h  la  mort/  madam  e,  and  this  has  come  at 
the  last  hour,"  he  cried,  in  great  satisfaction.  "  I  sup- 
pose le  p6re  Jean  would  say  you  were  going  to  Louis- 
bourg  all  the  time,  only  it  would  look  to  an  ordinary  sin- 
ner like  a  precious  long  way  round,"  and  he  chuckled  at 
his  jest  as  he  bustled  about,  filling  every  one  with  some- 
what of  his  brimming  content. 

Favoured  by  the  tide  and  a  strong  wind,  we  made  a 
good  run  during  the  night,  and  when  we  awoke  we  were 
again  coasting  along  the  peaceful  reaches  of  the  South 
Shore  with  its  frequent  settlements  and  clearings  —  a 
pleasant  change  after  the  wilderness  of  the  North. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  Gabriel  pointed  to  a  long  point 
stretching  out  into  the  river. 

"  That  is  the  Beacon  Point  of  Beaulieu,  madanie.  A 
beacon  is  piled  there,  ready  for  firing,  winter  and  sum- 
mer. The  entrance  to  the  river  is  just  on  this  side,  and 
on  the  other  is  the  great  bay  where  the  porpoise  fishery 
takes  place.  The  manor  cannot  be  seen  from  the  river  ; 
it  is  safe  and  snug  from  the  storms,  a  little  inland.^' 

Before  long  we  entered  the  mouth  of  the  little  river, 
to  the  right  of  which  stretched  a  broad  expanse  of  tidal 
meadow,  dotted  with  small  platforms,  each  supporting 
its  load  of  coarse  salt  hay,  safe  above  the  reach  of  the 
highest  tides ;  to  the  left  was  the  dense  pine  wood  cov- 

133 


AT    BEAULIEU 


ering  the  Beacon  Point.  Fields  and  woods  wore  the  som- 
bre colours,  the  browns  and  purples  of  autumn,  though 
here  and  there  a  sturdy  maple  still  hung  out  its  banner 
of  yellow  or  red,  lighting  up  the  dark  greens  of  the  un- 
changing pines.  As  we  advanced,  the  windings  of  the 
river  disclosed  stretches  of  bare  meadow  and  empty  fields, 
for  the  harvest  had  long  been  gathered.  The  whole  was 
set  in  a  background  of  low,  purple  hills.  But  soon  we 
caught  a  new  interest,  as  a  windmill,  and  then  a  long 
wooden  house,  having  a  high-pitched  roof,  brokeu  by  a 
row  of  pointed  dormer-windows,  with  a  detached  tower 
at  each  end,  came  into  view. 

"  There,  madame,  that  is  the  manor  !"  Gabriel  an- 
nounced with  evident  pride,  to  which  I  made  suitable 
return,  for  despite  its  humble  form,  like  a  substantial 
farm-house,  its  great  length  and  the  two  towers  gave  to 
it  an  appearance  which  removed  it  out  of  the  common. 

Our  boat  was  made  fast  to  a  little  landing-place,  and 
we  disembarked  ;  but,  to  my  surprise,  no  one  appeared 
to  welcome  or  to  question  us.  Gabriel  led  the  way  up 
to  the  house  through  a  garden,  which  must  have  been  a 
model  of  neatness  in  summer-time,  but  was  now  stripped 
and  blackened  by  the  early  frosts.  Though  the  door  of 
the  house  stood  hospitably  open  to  us,  no  answer  came 
to  our  echoing  knock. 

Going  round  to  the  back  proved  equally  fruitless,  but 
I  espied  two  women  working  in  a  field  at  a  short  dis- 
tance, and,  bidding  Gabriel  await  me,  I  took  my  way  tow- 
ards them.  I  found  them  engaged  with  spade  and  fork 
digging  up  reddish  -  looking  roots,  which  they  piled  in 
little  heaps. 

'*I  bring  letters  to  Mme.  de  Sarennes,"  I  said,  address- 
ing the  younger  woman,  who  seemed  confused,  but 
whose  face  I  could  barely  see  for  the  great  bonnet  which 
covered  her  head  like  a  cowl,  "but  I  find  no  one  in  the 
house.     Can  you  tell  me  what  to  do  ?" 

133 


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30 


5  1 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

"  If  madame  will  return  and  find  a  seat  in  the  house, 
I  shall  bring  some  one,"  she  answered,  prettily  enough, 
and,  dropping  her  fork,  she  ran  towards  the  house. 

**  What  are  those  things  you  are  digging  up  ?"  I  asked 
the  elder  woman. 

**  Potatoes,  madame." 

**  But  do  the  people  eat  them  ?"  I  inquired,  for  I 
knew  they  were  not  used  in  France. 

"  *  Only  the  Bostonnais  and  cattle,'  we  used  to  say, 
madame,  but  now  the  Intendant  has  ordered  them  to  be 
planted  and  eaten  by  all." 

**  And  they  will  obey  ?" 

"  '  Le  miel  n'est  pas  pour  les  anes,'  madame  ;  those 
who  do  not,  will  go  hungry,"  she  answered,  laughing. 

I  was  interested  in  the  news,  as  well  as  in  the  calm  philos- 
ophy with  which  the  innovation  was  accepted,  and  after  a 
few  more  questions  I  returned  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

The  room  into  which  the  entrance  gave — for  it  was 
more  of  a  room  than  a  hall — was  large  and  low,  with  a 
ceiling  painted  white,  supported  by  heavy  beams  ;  it  was 
carpeted  and  furnished  with  much  comfort — much  more 
than  one  would  find  in  a  similar  house  either  in  Scotland 
or  France. 

In  a  short  time  a  young  lady  entered,  her  dark  olive 
face  well  set  off  by  her  brown  hair,  becomingly  though 
simply  dressed,  with  a  light  girlish  figure  showing  to 
advantage  in  her  flowered  gown. 

"  I  am  Mile,  de  Sarennes,  madame,  and  I  regret  that 
you  should  have  been  kept  waiting."  She  began  gravely 
enough,  but  catching  some  wonderment  in  my  face,  she 
continued,  laughing  merrily  :  '*  Oh,  'tis  of  no  use  ;  I  can 
never  masquerade  !  I  am  Queen  of  the  Fields,  madame, 
and  you  surprised  me  a  moment  ago,  sceptre  in  hand," 
whereupon  she  made  me  a  grand  courtesy,  nearly  sink- 
ing to  the  floor. 

134 


AT    BEAULIEU 


"  And  I  am  Mme.  de  St.  Just,"  I  answered,  joining  in 
her  girlish  fun,  "a  poor  rescued  prisoner  seeking  for 
shelter;  and  this  is  my  waiting- woman  and  very  good 
friend,  Lucy  Routh.  I  come  to  you  with  letters  from  M. 
do  Montcalm,  trusting  our  presence  may  not  prove  a 
burthen  to  you." 

**But  here  is  my  mother,"  said  the  young  girl,  qnick- 
ly.  *'  Not  a  word  to  her  of  how  you  discovered  me  ;  she 
will  never  acknowledge  that  such  a  thing  as  field-work  is 
necessary,  though  there  is  not  a  man  left  to  share  it,  ex- 
cept myself.     We  hide  it  from  her  as  we  would  a  sin." 

At  the  words  a  gray-haired  lady  supporting  herself  on 
a  cane  entered.  In  a  few  moments  all  explanations  were 
made,  and  I  received  from  her  a  welcome  scarcely  less 
warm  than  that  of  her  daughter,  but  with  the  difference, 
that  it  was  only  given  after  she  had  carefully  read  the 
letter  of  the  Marquis  de  Montcalm  and  its  enclosure. 

•'  Your  own  presence  would  command  my  hospitality 
in  any  case,  madame ;  but  these  letters,  and  especially 
that  of  le  p^re  Jean,  change  a  duty  into  a  pleasure  ;  it  is 
much  to  have  gained  the  friendship  of  such  a  man.  I 
fear,  thour'-  you  will  have  to  put  up  with  our  poor  com- 
pany for  soiae  time,  as  my  son  has  but  left  for  his  post 
in  Acadie,  and  I  do  not  look  for  his  return  until  the 
snows  come  ;  but  we  will  do  all  we  can  to  make  you  happy 
until  such  time  as  you  can  leave  to  join  your  friends." 

Nothing  could  be  more  charming  than  her  address, 
even  though  it  bore  a  trace  of  condescendence  ;  but  that 
was  merely  the  reflection  of  an  older  school  of  manners, 
to  which  I  had  been  well  accustomed  in  Lady  Jane. 

As  soon  as  we  had  settled  these  mutters,  I  agreed  with 
Gabriel  that  he  should  go  on  to  Quebec,  there  to  obtain 
some  necessaries  of  which  I  stood  in  much  need,  as  did 
poor  Lucy. 

''  You  do  not  expect  to  find  shops  there,  surely  !" 
laughed  mademoiselle.     ''  But  my  friend  Mme.  de  Lan- 

m 


I 


!i 

t 

I     '1 

I     I, 


I       I 
)       I 

I       I 


I 


THE    SI' AN    O'    LIFE 


111- 


i 


!0: 


iir 


»i    i 


m 

ifi 
W 


m 


andi^re  will  gladly  undertake  the  buying  of  the  material, 
and  we  will  make  such  siiift  for  the  litting  as  is  possible 
here." 

So  wo  were  installed  as  guests,  and  on  the  morrow 
Gabriel  was  despatched  on  his  important  errand  ;  before 
he  returned  we  had  taken  our  places  as  members  of  the 
little  household. 

Mile,  de  Sarennes — Angelique,  as  she  insisted  on  my 
calling  her  —  would  not  consent  to  my  helping  in  the 
fields,  so  Lucy  and  1  took  charge  in  the  house,  where 
Lucy  did  marvels  in  the  kitchen,  even  to  eliciting  appro- 
bation from  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  which  Angelique  assured 
us  was  praise  indeed,  for  her  mother  was  a  housekeeper 
of  the  school  which  did  not  acknowledge  that  excellence 
of  performance  called  for  anything  beyond  a  refraining 
from  criticism.  How  could  I  be  other  than  content  ?  I 
was  surrounded  by  a  daily  round  of  interest,  almost  of 
affection,  and,  most  precious  of  all,  by  a  gentle  courtesy 
which  accepted  me  as  a  guest  without  question  or  curi- 
osity as  to  my  past.  Le  pere  Jean  had  answered  for  me, 
and  that  was  enough. 

When  Gabriel  returned  I  paid  him  for  his  services, 
though  it  was  only  when  I  had  assured  the  honest  fellow 
I  was  amply  able  to  do  so  that  he  consented  to  receive 
anything  from  me.  When  he  was  leaving  me  he  charged 
me  with  great  earnestness  : 

*'  Madame,  should  you  need  me  at  any  time,  either  by 
day  or  night,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  light  the  beacon. 
If  by  night,  let  it  burn  brightly  ;  if  by  day,  do  as  you  saw 
le  pere  Jean,  and  go  on  repeating  it,  until  yon  see  the  an- 
swering smoke  from  the  Island,  or  my  sail." 

*'  But,  my  good  Gabriel,  I  am  not  likely  to  trouble 
you,  as  when  I  go  from  here  it  will  be  by  land,  and  in  a 
different  direction." 

"*Qui  dit  averti,  dit  muni,'madame;  no  one  can  tell 
what  may  happen,  and  it  may  do  no  harm  to  know  you 

136 


"rilKSE   LETTEUS   tllANGE   A    DLTY    INTO   A    I'l.KASlUE 


I      U    I 


■  ; 
■j  ■ 


<   <1 


~.  ;' 


' 

■  i 
,  5 

11 

.; 

s 

i 

)<i 

1 

i  r 


■wr 


!   •/ 


'  ! 


1    ti.'< 

V: 


I  I 

>  '       I,    I 


•   1, 


T 


AT   BEAVLIEU 

try  was  covered  with  snow      i?'^''' ^^^^  ^^^o^e  conn 

desolation,  and,  alas '  ont  t  ,  '  "  '"'^'"«  "torm  and 
death  to  „an  aL,  C^^^  ^^^^y  snffeHn,  ani 
and  a  blessmg,  ,velcomed  by  ail  /"'""  "'  ^  ''^"ty 
over  miles  of  sno>f . covered  fi!L\,  ^"^-^'I'l-e  took  Z 
had  a  charm  of  softnesT  .W  ^^^  «"■«"«'•  -ood.  th^ 
've  eonld  manage  our  »now-shoe  ,>,!"":•"'"-"'"<''  »«" 
Yon   must  harden  your T     ,       "'  ""^''aj- 

nng3fo.  the  journey  youTL, ,;;'"'  '""'  "'^•''^''i^e  yonr 
a"d  not  shame  my  trlinL     ,    ''  ^""'""''e  declared 
road  with  Charles."'"^  '"'"'»  y°"  take  the  hlh 
Like  her  mother  sh»  ,., 

busied  ourselves  in  CaStilt"/":: "  ^"'"•'  a-d  we  all 


I  ; 

il 

1 


M     f  -4 


1 1 


'f 


ti;. 


li'iH 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

On  the  last  night  of  the  year  we  sate  together  about  the 
fire,  Angelique  laughing  and  chattering  incessantly  ;  her 
mother  sitting  with  her  spinning-wheel,  her  wedding-gift 
from  the  Marquis  de  Beauliarnois — a  dainty  construction 
of  mahogany  tipped  with  ivory  and  silver  —  whirring 
peacefully,  as  with  skilful  fingers  she  guided  the  fine  flax 
from  her  spindle  ;  Lucy  at  a  little  distance  knitting  me- 
thodically; and  I  expectant,  excited  by  Angelique's  unrest. 

"Ah,  Marguerite,  what  a  shame  Charles  must  tack  on 
that  odious  '  madame,'  every  time  he  addresses  you  V  ex- 
claimed Angelique,  merrily.  *'  Had  I  my  way,  I'd  ban- 
ish the  '  madame,'  as  I  would  banish  every  one  who  has 
a  claim  on  you,  and  keep  you  all  for  our  very  own.  What 
nonsense!  to  have  other  people  in  the  world  when  we  want 
you  so  mucli !  Stay  with  us  !  I'll  marry  you  myself ; 
I'm  sure  I'm  worth  all  the  men  in  the  world  put  to- 
gether !" 

**  Be  sensible,  my  daughter  I  be  sensible,"  interrupted 
Mme.  de  Sarennes,  in  her  unruffled  voice.  ''I  cannot 
think  how  you  find  such  nonsense  amusing." 

*'  Now,  maman,  be  fair  !  Do  you  know  any  man  in 
the  whole  world,  except  Charles,  you  like  better  than 
me  ?  There  !  There  !  I  told  you  !  And  my  mother 
has  the  very  best  taste  in  the  world — eh,  '  Mademoiselle  ' 
Marguerite  ?''  And  the  madcap  jumped  up,  and  run- 
ning over  to  her  mother,  embraced  her  in  spite  of  her 
remonstrances. 

In  the  midst  of  this  turmoil  a  soft  knock  was  heard, 
and  we  all  sprang  to  our  feet. 

**  Come  in  !  Come  in  !"  called  Angelique,  running  to 
the  door  ;  but  it  opened  before  she  could  reach  it,  and 
there,  in  tiie  bright  light,  stood  an  Indian  holding  his 
snow-shoes  in  his  hand. 

As  soon  as  I  saw  him  I  could  not  repress  a  cry  of  ter- 
ror, for  he  was  the  very  cliief  from  whom  le  pere  Jeau 
had  rescued  me. 

138 


AT    BEAITLIEU 


"  Do  not  be  alarmed,  Margnerite.  He  is  Luntook,  my 
son's  man.     He  always  brings  word  of  my  son's  return." 

The  Indian  explained  to  Angelique,  in  his  broken 
French,  that  his  master  had  but  sent  him  to  announce 
his  coming,  and  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  either 
to  Lucy  or  myself.  As  soon  as  he  had  answered  Ange- 
lique's  eager  questionings,  he  took  himself  off  again,  and 
we  began  our  preparations. 

**  He  will  be  here  in  an  hour  !"  sang  Angelique,  as  she 
danced  about  the  room  like  a  mad  thing.  Fresh  wood 
was  piled  on  the  fire  :  the  table  was  set  with  the  best 
linen  and  silver,  and  loaded  with  every  delicacy  we  had 
prepared  ;  candles  w^^re  placed  in  each  window,  of  which 
the  heavy  wooder.  sli  atters  were  thrown  back,  and  soon 
*,A.'.  whole  house  wii  a  blaze  of  light. 

!'ito  all  this  entered  the  long-expected  guest,  who, 
aiLiir  tenderly  embracing  his  mother,  was  caught  in  a 
whirl  of  kisses  and  questionings  showered  on  him  by 
Angelique.  Suddenly  she  released  him,  crying  :  '*  But 
stop,  Charles  !  you  make  me  forgot  myself.  Here  is 
Mme.  de  St.  Just,  for  whose  sake,  most  of  all,  we  have 
been  waiting  for  you." 

While  I  acknowledged  his  salutation,  Angelique  rat- 
tled on  :  '*  She  has  waited  for  you  all  this  time  to  take 
her  to  Louisbourg,  she  and  her  waiting-woman.  Where 
is  Lucie  ?  Oli,  she  has  gone — frightened  by  the  Indian, 
no  doubt.  She— I  mean  Marguerite — is  bo  glad  you  have 
come.     When  do  you  go  back  ?" 

**  Not  to-night,  at  all  events,  ma  belle.  I'm  sure  even 
madame  would  not  ask  that.  In  any  case  not  until 
I've  tasted  some  of  these  good  things.  We  can  boast  no 
such  table  at  Mire." 

With  much  laughter  we  gradually  settled  down.  When 
M.  de  Sarennes  had  dotfed  his  outer  wrappings  and  ;!p- 
peared  in  a  close-littiug  suit  of  some  dark  blue  stuff,  I 
thought  I  had  seldom  seen  a  handsomer  type  of  man,  and 

w 


*  1 


\4 


Ml 


i     ( 


w 


m 


th  ; 


I  i 


s 


m 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

(lid  not  wonder  at  the  pride  his  womenkind  displayed, 
lie  was  very  tail,  had  a  dark  olive  face  like  his  sir.ter, 
great  flashing  eyes,  and  black  hair  that  rolled  handsome- 
ly off  his  well-shaped  forehead ;  and  I  could  easily  im- 
agine that  more  usual  clothing  would  transform  him  into 
a  prince  among  his  fellows. 

Before  taking  his  place  at  table  he  left  us  for  a  little 
to  see  after  his  men,  who  were  provided  for  in  the  kitch- 
en.    When  he  returned,  he  said  : 

'*  Luntook,  my  Indian,  tells  me  that  it  was  he  who 
carried  you  off,  madame.  lie  had  taken  you  for  English 
women,  and  even  now  can  scarce  be  persuaded  he  was 
mistaken,  though  he  gave  you  up  to  le  p6re  Jean." 

'*We  are  English  women,  monsieur." 

"  And  you  would  go  to  Louisbourg  ?"  he  asked,  I 
thought  sharply,  with  a  flash  of  his  great  eyes. 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  I  said,  quietly. 

But  he  said  nothing  further,  beyond  assuring  me  that 
the  Indian  was  thoroughly  trustworthy,  and  I  need  be  in 
no  fear  of  him. 

Thereupon  we  sate  down  to  table,  and  as  her  brother 
ate,  Angelique  related  to  him  our  story,  or,  rather,  a 
merry  burlesque  of  our  adventures,  at  which  he  laughed 
heartily. 

''  AVell,  madame,  I  have  news  for  your  waiting-woman, 
at  least ;  though  why  she  should  run  away  when  she 
must  be  dying  to  hear  it,  is  more  than  I  can  imagine. 
Tell  her  that  her  son  arrived  safely  at  Louisbourg,  where 
lie  was  soon  a  hot  favourite  with  every  one  in  the  gar- 
rison, and  most  of  all  with  the  Chevalier  de  Maxwell." 
Here  he  paused  to  raise  his  glass,  looking  hard  at  me  the 
while.  To  my  distress,  the  tell-taie  blood  leaped  to  my 
face  at  the  unexpected  mention  of  that  dear  name. 
*'  Being  a  stirring  lad  and  much  attached  to  me,"  he 
continued,  without  apparently  noticing  my  confusion, 
**  he  begged  to  be  allowed  to  join  me  on  an  expedition. 

140 


AT    BEAULIEU 


We  were  surprised  by  the  English,  and  he  was  slightly 
wounded — oh,  nothing,  I  assure  you,  madarae,  a  mere 
scratch  I — and  carried  off  a  prisoner,  but  no  doubt  is 
even  now  as  great  a  favourite  with  them  as  he  was  with 
us.  Should  they  come  to  look  us  up  in  the  spring,  I 
doubt  not  he  will  be  found  in  their  ranks.  At  ail 
events,  he  is  with  his  friends,  and  is  safe." 

So  rejoiced  was  I  to  hear  this  news  for  Lucy's  sake,  that 
I  excused  myself  and  withdrew  to  my  room,  where  I 
found  the  dear,  patient  soul  on  her  knees,  awaiting  what- 
ever tidings  I  might  bring. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  mistress,"  she  said,  quietly,  when  I  had 
told  her  all,  "I  have  prayed  and  hoped,  but  at  times  my 
poor  faith  would  aimost  fail  me  ;  and  even  now,  when 
trembling  at  what  I  might  have  to  bef.r,  His  message 
comes,  that  all  is  well  with  the  child." 

141 


l'4  i 


I    ! 


^i  i 


i*   ', 


*l 


.  < 


t ; 


CHAPTER   XVII 

I  FIND   MYSELF   IN   A   FALSE   POSITION 

The  rest  of  the  week  passed  quickly,  in  one  sense, 
though  every  hour  of  it  dragged  for  me.  I  was  burning 
with  impatience  to  hear  M.  de  Sarennes  speak  some  word 
of  his  intended  departure,  and  yet  could  not  bring  my- 
self to  put  the  ungracious  question,  when  I  saw  the  dear 
pleasure  his  stay  meant  to  his  mother.  Never  had  I  seen 
more  tender,  respectful  attention  than  that  with  which 
he  surrounded  her.  He  would  sit  by  her  for  hours  lis- 
tening to  her  tales  of  his  father,  or  relating  his  own  ad- 
ventures and  successes  against  the  English. 

*'Have  a  care,  my  son,"  she  would  say,  with  an  anx- 
iety, not  unmixed  with  pride ;  "  they  will  not  forget  these 
things.  They  may  try  to  work  us  evil  for  them  some 
day.'' 

"  No  fear,  ma  w  re !  not  while  1  am  by  to  defend 
you,"  he  would  answer,  with  a  protecting  love  that  re- 
deemed his  confidence  from  bravado. 

He  accompanied  Angelique  and  me  on  all  our  walks, 
explaining  to  us  the  simpler  mysteries  of  his  wonderful 
woodcraft,  and  keenly  enjoying  our  ready  admiration. 
But  my  mind  was  uneasy.  With  the  assuredness  of  a 
man  accustomed  to  fiioile  conquest,  he  pressed  his  atten- 
tions upon  me  in  a  manner  to  which  I  was  unaccustomed, 
greatly  to  my  embarrassment. 


|. 


No  woman  of  my  day  could,  in  ordinary  circumstances, 
be  at  a  loss  to  interpret  say  attentions  she  might  receive. 

143 


m 


I " 


I   FIND   MYSELF   IN   A   FALSE   POSITION 

In  our  world,  gallantry  was  a  science  well  understood  ; 
as  exact  as  war,  its  every  move  had  its  meaning ;  its 
rules  were  rigidly  defined,  and  no  one  ever  thought  of 
transgressing  them  ;  so  there  reigned  a  freedom  which 
made  society  a  pleasure,  and  the  intercourse  with  men 
was  exactly  what  one  chose  it  should  be. 

But  now,  I  was  brought  face  to  face  with  a  man  who, 
whatever  might  be  his  birth,  had  neither  breeding  nor 
education  ;  who  was  accustomed  to  see  his  desire  and 
attain  it,  if  possible  ;  who  could  not  understand  that 
freedom  was  a  compliment  to  his  quality,  not  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  his  personality ;  and  who,  in  conse- 
quence, misinterpreted  mere  courtesies  in  a  sense  humil- 
iating to  the  bestower. 

Our  life  was  necessarily  so  intimate,  my  need  of  his 
good-will  so  great,  and  my  regard  for  his  mother  and  sis- 
ter so  warm,  that  I  was  bound  to  conceal  my  annoyance ; 
but  at  length  he  forced  me  to  a  declaration,  when,  hop- 
ing that  frankness  might  avail  me  better  than  evasion,  I 
spake  so  plainly  that  I  left  him  in  no  doubt  as  to  the 
manner  in  which  I  received  his  attentions.  He  resented 
it  with  all  the  bitterness  of  a  man  unaccustomed  to  re- 
buke, and  my  heart  failed  me  as  I  thought  of  the  weeks 
I  must  pass  in  his  company. 

This  made  me  the  more  anxious  to  push  matters  to  a 
conclusion,  and  my  opportunity  came  one  afternoon, 
when  Angelique  snapped  the  end  of  her  snow-shoe,  and 
was  forced  to  return,  leaving  us  to  finish  our  walk  to- 
gether. 

We  moved  on  in  silence  for  some  time  before  I  could 
summon  up  courage  to  venture  the  question  on  which  I 
felt  so  much  depended. 

'*  Have  you  decided  on  your  return  to  Louisbourg, 
monsieur  ?" 

"  I  must  first  go  to  Quebec  and  report  to  M.  de  Mont- 
calm," he  began,  in  an  ordinary  voice,  and  then,  to  my 

143 


/I  I 


i 


I 
I 


I  V 


n 


i.  ( 


i' 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


surprise,  he-  suddenly  broke  into  invective.  *'  We  have 
a  new  order  hero  now  ;  everything  must  be  reported  in  a 
quarter  where  nothing  is  known  of  the  needs  of  the 
country,  or  the  character  of  the  service.  If  those  id'uts 
in  Paris  would  only  mind  matters  in  their  own  country 
and  leave  Canada  to  those  who  know  it  best,  if  they 
would  send  us  troops  and  not  generals,  if  they  would 
send  us  money  and  not  priests,  we  should  do  better. 
What  can  you  expect  of  men  who  think  of  nothing  but 
parade  and  their  own  precious  dignity  ?  Who  never 
speak  of  a  Canadian  but  with  derision  ?  But  I  forgot. 
Madame  is  too  recently  from  Paris  herself  to  take 
an  interest  in  such  matters ;  to  her,  do  <btless,  we 
are  all  'colonists,'  and  M.  de  Montcalm  is  Pope  and 
King." 

He  stopped  and  faced  me  at  his  last  words,  and  though 
not  unprepared  for  some  outburst,  I  was  appalled  at  the 
fierceness  of  his  tone  and  the  bitterness  he  threw  into  his 
charge.     Before  I  could  reply,  he  went  on  : 

*'My  sister  has  handed  me  the  orders  which  M.  le  Mar- 
quis de  ^lontcalm  et  de  St.  Veran,  has  been  pleased  to 
lay  on  my  mother  and  myself  concerning  you,  but  she 
tells  me  nothing  of  your  friends  in  Louisbourg.  May  I 
ask  whom  you  would  Join  there  ?" 

'^  M.  de  Sarennes,  your  mother  and  sister  have  treated 
me  with  a  consideration  beyond  words.  They  have  sub- 
jected me  to  no  questionings,  to  no  inquiries,  beyond 
what  I  have  chosen  to  reveal  myself,  and  surely  I  can 
look  for  the  same  courtesy  from  you.'* 

*'0,  madame,  raadame — I  am  no  courtier  from  Ver- 
sailles. Your  M.  de  Montcalm  will  probably  tell  you  I 
am  a  mere  'coureur  de  bois,'  and,  if  that  be  the  case, 
you  must  lay  it  to  my  condition  if  I  ask  again :  Who  is  it 
you  go  to  meet  in  Louisbourg  ?  Is  it,  by  chance,  Mme. 
de  St.  Julhien  ?" 

I  remembered  the  Chevalier  de  St.  Julhien  was  Hugh's 

144 


I   FIND   MYSELF   IN   A    FALSE   POSITION 


colonel,  and  eagerly  caught  at  the  opening,  for  I  had 
begun  to  be  seriously  frightened. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  since  you  must  know,  it  is  Mme.  de 
St.  Julhien." 

"  Oh,  ho  I  ho  !  Nom  de  Ciel !  But  that  is  a  good 
one  V  He  roared  like  a  peasant,  and  I  almost  screamed 
in  terror.  "  That  is  a  good  one  !  I  have  been  in  and 
out  of  Louisbourg  for  the  last  ten  years  and  more,  and  I 
have  yet  to  hear  of  a  Mme.  de  St.  Julhien.  Come,  come, 
ma  belle  !  I'll  wager  mv  head  you  are  no  more  Mme.  de 
St.  Just,  than  I  am.  i  ou  have  been  playing  a  pretty 
comedy  to  these  simpjo  spectators,  who  were  too  scrupu- 
lous to  venture  a  question.  It  took  the  barbarous  coureur 
de  bois  to  see  through  the  paint !  There  !  There  ! 
Don't  look  so  frightened.  I  can  guess,  readily  enough, 
what  brings  a  pretty  woman  to  the  walls  of  a  garrison 
town." 

Oh,  the  shame,  the  miserable  shame  and  degradation 
which  overwhelmed  me  at  the  brutal  insinuations  of  this 
well-born  clown!  And,  to  crown  it  all,  he  stepped  close 
beside  me,  and  before  I  had  a  suspicion  of  his  intent,  he 
threw  his  arms  about  my  waist  and  kissed  me. 

**  You  wretch  !  you  cowardly  hound  !"  I  cried,  beside 
myself  at  this  last  insult.  "  How  dare  you  treat  me  thus  ? 
I  will  appeal  to  M.  de  Montcalm,  and  you  shall  rue  this 
day  beyond  any  you  have  ever  lived.  I  will  appeal  to 
your  mother — " 

"0,  la,  la,  la,  my  charming  little  Mme.  Je-Ne-Sais- 
Qnoi,  you  can  jomplain  to  M.  de  Montcalm  when  you 
see  liim.  As  for  my  mother,  I  hardly  imagine  you  will 
dare  to  tell  her  anything  which  will  not  excuse  my  ac- 
tion. But  come,  madame,  we  are  not  getting  on  with 
our  conversation  at  all.  Believe  me,  I  am  not  a  bad  fel- 
low at  bottom.  Tell  me  who  it  is  you  are  really  going 
to  meet  in  Louisbourg,  and  we  shall  see  if  it  be  not  pos- 
sible to  further  your  plans." 
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THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 


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Let  me  go,  M.  de  Sarennes,  let  me  go  !"  I  implored. 

"Now,  madame,  let  us  talk  sensibly.  Consider  how 
awkward  it  may  be  if  I  have  to  pursue  these  inquiries 
before  others.  lu  any  event,  I  can  guess  fairly  well. 
Let  us  see  :  Madame  is  an  Englishwoman ;  is  well  born, 
wealthy,  and,  if  she  nill  not  resent  my  saying  so,  is  of  a 
certain  age.  Good  !  Monsieur  is  an  Englishman  ;  well 
born,  poor,  and  also  of  a  suitable  age.  Good  !  Monsieur 
is  unfortunate  in  his  present  position  ;  is  practically  in 
exile.  Madame  comes  overseas  alone,  save  for  a  chance 
waiting-woman  she  picks  up.  Why  ?  Surely  not  for  the 
delights  of  travel.  Monsieur's  name  is  Le  Chevalier 
Maxwell  do  Kirkconnel.  Madame's  name  is—  Ma  foi  I 
I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  it  is.  There !  madame, 
have  I  not  drawn  the  outline  of  the  comedy  cleverly 
enough,  for  a  mere  coureur  de  bois,  a  mere  Canadian  ?" 

"  Let  me  go,  monsieur,  let  me  go  !" 

*'  Tell  me  first,  are  you  not  Madame  de  Maxwell  ?" 

*'  Yes,  yes,"  I  cried,  in  desperation,  eager  to  seize  any 
chance  of  escape. 

*'  Then,  madame,  believe  me,  you  were  very  foolish  not 
to  say  so  at  once.  I  guessed  it  the  very  first  night  I  saw 
you.  Now  I  know  the  Chevalier  intimately  ;  in  fact,  I  am 
under  obligation  to  liim  for  much  good  advice  ;  but  I  will 
confess  he  has  never  seen  fit  to  impart  to  me  the  fact  of 
his  marriage,  which  will  be  a  surprise  to  many." 

**  0,  monsieur,  I  beg  of  you  that  you  will  never  men- 
tion it,"  I  cried,  in  an  agony  of  shame  and  self-reproach. 

"  Never,  madame ;  believe  me,  it  was  too  disappointing 
a  piece  of  news  in  my  own  case,  for  me  to  have  any  de- 
sire to  place  others  in  the  like  unhappy  position.  But 
allow  me  first  to  apologise  for  frightening  you  ;  pardon 
me  that  I  cannot  look  upon  it  as  an  insult;  and  now  that 
I  have  made  the  amende  honorable,  I  will  go  back  and  an- 
swer your  first  question.  I  shall  start  for  Quebec  in  two 
days ;  I  shall  be  back  in  a  week,  and  then  leave  for  Louis- 

146 


I  FIND  MYSELF  IN  A  FALSE  POSITION 

bonrg  at  once,  if  you  feel  yon  can  trust  yourself  with 
me." 

I  was  so  completely  in  his  power  that  I  mustered  up 
all  my  courage,  and  replied,  bravely  enough  :  *'  M.  de 
Sarennes,  I  cannot  but  believe  I  am  safe  in  the  charge  of 
one  whom  I  know  as  so  loving  a  son,  so  fond  a  brother. 
I  trust  yon,  too,  as  the  friend  of  M.  de  Maxwell ;  and  I 
trust  you,  most  of  all,  because  you  have  learned  my  se- 
cret, and,  being  a  gentleman,  I  believe  you  will  not  be- 
tray it." 

*'  I  don't  know  how  far  I  accept  the  compliment,  but 
at  all  events,  madame,  I  shall  say  nothing  of  your  affairs. 
Remember,  though,  it  rests  chiefly  with  you  to  prevent 
suspicion.  You  must  keep  the  same  free  intercourse 
with  me,  and  never  allow  my  mother  or  sister  to  gather 
by  word,  or  sign,  that  the  nature  of  our  conference  to-day 
has  been  otherwise  than  pleasant.  Now  that  we  have 
come  to  an  understanding,  no  doubt  some  news  of  Louis- 
bourg  will  be  welcome." 

As  he  spake  we  turned  back  towards  the  manor ;  his 
whole  bearing  so  changed  in  a  moment  that  it  was  hard 
to  believe  the  bright,  pleasant-spoken  man  by  my  side 
was  the  same  creature  of  rough,  brutal  instincts  and  feel- 
ings who  had  tortured  and  alarmed  me  so  cruelly.  Little 
by  little  I  recovered  my  composure,  as  he  told  of  the  life 
in  the  fortress,  of  the  probable  investment  by  the  Eng- 
lish in  the  spring — if  they  could  then  muster  a  sufficient 
fleet — of  M.  de  Drucour,  of  M.  Prevost,  and,  best  of  all, 
of  Hugh,  though  he  tried  to  disturb  my  peace  by  hint- 
ing at  some  understanding  between  him  and  Madame 
Prevost. 

"  It  all  depends  on  you  now,  madame,"  he  said,  signifi- 
cantly, as  he  held  the  door  open  for  me  to  enter,  and 
fortunately  I  had  firmness  enough  to  control  myself 
through  the  long  evening  and  until  I  could  gain  my 
room. 

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THE   SPAN    O'   LIFE 

There  I  broke  down  utterly,  as  I  knelt  beside  my  bed, 
nnable  to  rise,  or  to  control  the  sobs  which  shook  my 
whole  body. 

Lacy  was  beside  me  in  a  moment. 

"  Dear  heart  I  Dear  heart !  Let  me  help  yon,"  she 
mnrmured,  raising  me  to  my  feet,  and  beginning  to  un- 
dress me  like  a  child,  crooning  over  me  and  quieting  me 
with  tender  touches  and  gentle  words. 

**  Oh,  Lucy,  speak  to  me,  say  something  to  comfort 
me.     lam  the  most  unhappy  woman  alive." 

**  My  dear,  dear  mistress,  no  one  can  be  so  unhappy 
that  our  Father  cannot  comfort  her.  This  is  the  time  of 
all  others  when  He  is  nearest  to  you.  You  have  but  to 
stretch  forth  your  hand  to  touch  His  robe  ;  you  have  but 
to  open  your  heart  to  have  Him  come  in  and  fill  it  with 
the  Peace  which  passeth  understanding.  I  am  an  igno- 
rf»^nt  woman,  but  I  have  this  knowledge.  I  went  through 
a  sorrow,  and  what  I  believed  to  be  a  disgrace,  helpless 
and  alone,  and  knew  of  no  comfort  till  He  sent  me  His. 

**  I  do  not  know  your  sorrow,  I  might  not  understand 
it  if  you  told  me,  but  beside  this  bed  is  standing  One  who 
knew  what  it  'vas  to  be  alone  more  than  any  other,  and 
He  is  saying  to  you,  *  Come,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'" 

**  Dear  Lucy,  you  are  such  a  comfort  to  me.  I  do  not 
understand  these  things  in  the  way  you  do.  I  have  never 
heard  them  so  spoken  of ;  but  oh  !  I  feel  so  safe  while 
you  speak !" 

"  Now,  mistress,  I  will  sing  to  you  " — and  she  sang  her 
sweet  songs  of  comfort  in  trouble,  of  deliverance  in  dan- 
ger, of  love  awaiting  us,  until  my  sorrow  was  stilled  and 
I  fell  asleep. 


M.  de  Sarennes  kept  his  word  in  so  far  as  further  an- 
noyance was  concerned,  but  he  displayed  a  familiarity 
towards  me  which  called  forth  laughing  comments  from 
Ang61ique,  and  kept  me  constantly  on  the  rack.    At  the 

148 


I  FIND  MYSELF   IN   A   FALSE   POSITION 


and  of  the  week  he  left  on  his  mission  to  Qaebec,  promis- 
ing to  return  within  ten  days,  and  charging  us  to  prepare 
for  our  long  journey. 

I  was  at  my  wits'  end  to  know  what  to  do.  I  could 
not  refuse  to  go  with  him,  no  matter  what  my  distrust. 
I  could  not  make  any  explanation  to  his  mother  or  sister 
which  would  not  expose  me  to  a  position  I  shuddered 
even  to  contemplate.  Would  Charles,  their  idol,  behave 
towards  any  woman  worthy  of  respect  as  he  had  behaved 
to  me  ?  I  was  completely  in  his  power ;  no  matter  what 
he  had  done  or  might  do,  he  had  but  to  appear  and  say, 
**  Come !"  and  I  must  follow,  no  matter  how  my  heart 
might  fail  me. 

All  too  late  I  realised  what  I  had  brought  upon  myself 
by  my  cowardly  evasion  of  le  p6re  Jean's  commands. 
I  had  deceived  myself,  or  rather,  1  had  pretended  to 
be  led  by  outward  chance,  instead  of  honestly  follow- 
ing our  compact,  and  now,  i.  was  reaping  my  reward. 
That  this  man  was  in  love  with  me  I  could  not  doubt, 
but  it  was  a  love  that  made  me  sick  to  my  very  soul  when 
I  thought  of  it.  Yet,  he  was  a  gentleman,  by  birth  at 
least;  he  was  answerable  to  the  Marquis  for  my  safe-keep- 
ing ;  and  no  matter  what  uneasiness  or  unquiet  I  might 
suffer  on  the  journey,  he  would  not  dare  to  offer  me  any 
indignity  with  Lucy  by  me  and  Hagh  awaiting  me  at  its 
end. 

With  this  I  was  forced  to  be  content,  and  busied  my- 
self with  Angelique  and  Lucy  in  our  preparations.  Ange- 
lique  chattered  merrily,  regretting  she  could  not  take  the 
journey  with  us ;  her  brother  knew  the  woods  as  others 
knew  the  town  ;  he  could  tell  every  track,  whether  of 
bird  or  beast ;  he  was  so  cunning  that  no  storm  surprised 
him,  and  so  tender  lie  would  cure  for  us  like  children. 

**  No  one  is  so  good  to  women  as  Charles  !  lie  never 
gets  out  of  patience  with  mo  or  maman.  Let  me  tell 
you,  you  are  a  lucky  girl,  *  Mademoiselle '  Marguerite,  to 

149 


i 


THE   SPAN   0»   LIFE 

have  snch  a  bean  cavalier  for  your  escort.  Really,  I  am 
jealous  of  your  opportunity  ;  my  brother  is  nearly  as  fine 
a  man  as  I  am ,  and  I  am  sure  any  woman  would  be  proud 
of  my  attentions."  Thus  she  ran  on,  while  I  listened^ 
heart-sick  at  the  thought  of  being  in  the  power  of  that 
brother,  whom  I  knew  far,  far  better  than  she. 

But  my  fortitude  was  not  put  to  any  test,  for,  on  the 
very  evening  of  M.  de  Sarennes's  return,  Lucy  fell  ill  of 
some  violent  fever,  and  by  the  morning  it  was  clear  that 
our  departure  was  an  impossibility. 

**  Never  mind,  madame,"  said  M.  de  Sarennes,  evident- 
ly not  ill  pleased  ;  **  I  can  as  well  go  to  my  post  at  Mira- 
michi.  I  have  business  there  which  will  detain  me  about 
a  month ;  no  doubt  by  that  time  you  will  be  ready  to 
start." 

"  Will  you  take  a  letter  for  Louisbourg  ?"  I  asked. 

He  laughed.  "You  are  like  all  Paris-bred  folk,  ma- 
dame !  Miramichi  is  a  good  hundred  leagues  from  Louis- 
bourg as  the  crow  flies,  and  more  than  twice  that  as  a 
man  can  travel.  No,  no,  madame  I  You  must  keep  your 
letter  until  you  can  deliver  it  in  person." 

He  made  a  pretence  of  laughing  heartily  at  my  discom- 
fiture, and  Angelique  innocently  joined  in,  thinking  the 
jest  to  be  my  ignorance  of  the  country,  while  my  heart 
was  bursting  with  indignation  that  he  should  thus  make 
a  mock  of  my  helplessness,  for  he  knew  well  what  it 
meant  to  me  that  Hugh  should  be  ignorant  of  my  where- 
abouts. 

100 


CHAPTER  XVm 


I    AM    RESCUED    FROM    A    QBEAT    DAlfGEB 


Lucy's  illness  proved  so  serious  that  all  thought  of 
Louisbourg  had  to  be  abandoned  during  the  long  weeks 
she  lay  between  life  and  death.  Now  it  was  that  I  re- 
alised the  full  dreariness  of  winter.  The  snow-covered 
fields  and  woods  had  a  stillness  and  emptiness  that 
weighed  upon  me ;  my  eyes  grew  weary  of  the  dead 
whiteness ;  and  that  the  earth  should  again  be  green, 
and  warm,  and  living,  seemed  to  call  for  something  little 
short  of  a  miracle.  By  the  water-side  it  was  worse  :  the 
drift-ice  was  piled  along  the  shore  in  the  wildest  confu- 
sion, magnified  and  distorted  by  great  banks  and  fantas- 
tic wreaths  of  snow.  Beyond  this  was  the  black,  open 
water,  bearing  the  floating  ice  backward  and  forward 
with  the  changing  tides,  never  at  rest,  grinding  cease- 
lessly against  the  frozen  barrier  between  it  and  wlie  shore, 
and  heralding  a  coming  change  of  weather  with  strange, 
hollow  explosions  and  meanings.  The  shortness  of  the 
days,  the  desolation  of  the  sweeping  storms  which  im- 
prisoned us,  the  unbroken  isolation,  and  the  disappoint- 
ment of  long  delay  told  heavily  on  my  spirits,  which 
might  have  failed  me  had  it  not  been  for  the  constant 
care  demanded  by  Lucy. 

Before  she  gained  strength  to  be  about  once  more,  the 
feeling  of  spring  was  in  the  air,  crows  were  calling  to 
one  another,  here  and  there  a  rounded  hill-top  showed  a 
dun,  sodden  patch  under  the  strengthening  sun,  and  a 
trickling  and  gurgling  told  that,  underneath  the  snow, 

151 


t- 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


1 


the  waters  were  gathering  to  free  the  riyers  and  send 
their  harthen  of  ice  sweeping  into  the  St.  Lawrence. 

M.  de  Sarennes  had  come  and  gone  with  promises  of 
return.  He  won  my  gratitude  by  his  forbearance  to  me 
as  well  as  by  his  unlooked-for  gentleness  towards  poor 
Lucy,  whose  heart  he  filled  with  admiration  by  kindly 
words  of  her  boy,  and  assurances  of  his  safety. 

She,  poor  thing,  had  not  recovered  her  full  mental 
condition  with  her  strength,  and  was  possessed  of  an 
idea  that  Christopher  was  at  Quebec,  and  that  she 
ehould  be  on  her  way  there  to  meet  him.  This  idea  I 
did  my  utmost  to  dissipate,  but  M.  de  Sarennes,  possi- 
bly to  quiet  or  please  her,  had  let  fall  something  which 
she  had  taken  as  an  assurance  that  the  English  troops 
were  there,  and  her  son  with  them,  and  however  success- 
fully I  might  persuade  her  at  the  moment  of  the  truth, 
she  would  as  regularly  come  back  to  her  delusion  when 
alone. 

Distressing  as  this  was  as  an  indication  of  her  3ondi- 
tion,  it  was  the  more  disturbing  to  me  as  it  was  the  last 
blow  to  my  hopes  for  Louisbourg.  It  would  be  sheer 
madness  to  trust  myself  to  M.  de  Sarennes  without  her 
protection ;  a  protection  which  had  vanished  now,  in  the 
complete  ascendency  he  had  gained  over  her  by  his  ready 
acquiescence  in  her  imaginings,  and  I  could  not  but 
feel  he  was  skilfully  withdrawing  her  affections  from  mo. 

However,  he  was  called  away  to  his  post  so  suddenly 
that  I  was  spared  the  difficulty  of  a  decision,  and  I  had 
almost  determined  that  I  would  go  on  to  Quebec  and 
place  myself  under  the  care  of  M.  de  Montcalm,  when, 
towards  the  end  of  May,  he  returned,  unexpected  by  any 
of  us,  even  by  his  mother,  who,  it  was  patent,  was  much 
disturbed ;  but  her  unwavering  belief  in  his  superior 
judgment  kept  her  silent.  "  He  is  my  son,  and  knows 
his  duty  better  than  we,"  was  her  only  reply  to  Ang6- 
lique's  questionings  at  any  time,  and  it  did  not  fail  her 

152 


RESCUED    FROM    A    GREAT    DANGER 

now.  It  was  touching  to  mark  her  effort  to  carry  things 
off,  to  cover  his  preoccnpation,  and,  distraught  though 
he  was,  he  remitted  nothing  of  his  attentions  towards 
her,  and  so  each  comforted  and  shielded  the  other.  I 
felt  like  an  intruder,  and  when  Ang^lique  proposed  a 
visit  to  the  porpoise-fishery  for  the  afternoon,  I  eagerly 
accepted  the  chance  of  escape. 


We  wandered  off  towards  the  beach,  and  by  it  made 
our  way  round  to  the  great  bay  where  the  porpoise-fish- 
ing once  took  place. 

**  Look  at  the  bones  of  the  old  days,  and  yon  can 
imagine  what  it  meant  to  ns,"  said  Angelique,  pointing 
to  the  line  of  great  ribs,  and  skulls,  and  skeletons  which 
made  a  grotesque  barrier  to  the  highest  tides,  almost 
completely  round  the  wide  semicircle  of  the  bay.  **  We 
fought  for  this  many  a  long  year,  both  with  men  and  at 
law,  and  now,  alas,  we  have  neither  men  nor  law  to  work 
it  for  us.  The  porpoise  can  swim  in  and  out  of  the 
broken  park  unharmed.  There,  just  as  that  fellow  is 
doing  now  !  Look  at  him  !"  As  she  spoke,  a  huge  white 
mass  rose  slowly  above  the  water  within  the  bounds  of 
the  fishery,  and  then  came  forward  with  a  rush  in  pur- 
suit of  the  smelts  and  capelans,  shooting  up  showers  of 
spray,  which  broke  into  rainbows  in  the  brilliant  sun- 
light. 

**  It  is  like  everything  else,  going  to  rack  and  ruin ; 
with  the  people  starving  in  the  sight  of  plenty,  because 
this  wretched  war  must  drag  on,"  sighed  Ang61ique. 
"  The  men  feel  nothing  of  it ;  they  have  all  the  fighting 
and  glory,  while  we  sit  at  home  helpless,  good  for  nothing." 

**  Don't  say  that,  ma  belle  !"  called  out  her  brother, 
cheerily;  and  we  turned  to  find  him  behind  us.  *' Do 
you  think  we  could  have  the  heart  to  keep  it  up,  if  it 
were  not  for  the  thought  of  you  ?  But  there,  you  are 
tired  and  oat  of  sorts,  little  one.    Go  back  to  the  mother, 

153 


f( 


'.I 


THE   SPAN    O'    LIFE 

and  I  will  take  madame  round  by  the  end  of  the  bay  and 
back  by  the  sucrerie." 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  object,  and  Ang^liqne  left 
us,  while  we  took  our  way  along  the  sands.  M.  de  Sa- 
rennes  seemed  to  have  thrown  aside  his  former  cares, 
and  rattled  on  in  his  natural  way,  noting  and  explaining 
everything  which  might  interest  me,  and  had  I  not  known 
him  better,  I  might  have  been  misled  by  his  openness ; 
but  all  the  time  I  kept  asking  myself :  "  When  will  he 
speak  ?  What  will  he  say  ?"  So  that  it  was  a  relief  when, 
as  we  turned  away  from  the  shore  into  the  woods,  he 
suddenly  dropped  his  former  tone,  and  addressed  me 
without  pretence : 

"  Well,  madame,  are  you  as  anxious  as  before  to  get 
to  Louisbourg  ?" 

"  No ;  I  have  decided  not  to  go.     It  is  too  late." 

"  Why  too  late  ?  Are  you  fearful  M.  de  Maxwell  may 
have  wearied  waiting  for  you  ?" 

"Monsieur,  your  words  are  an  insult  I  If  this  be  all 
you  have  to  say  to  me,  I  beg  you  will  let  me  return  to 
the  house." 

"  Not  so  fast,  madai.ie.  I  have  a  question  or  two  yet 
which  require  to  be  answered,  unless  you  prefer  I  should 
put  them  before  my  mother  and  sister.  No  ?  Then  will 
you  tell  me  who  this  boy  Christophe  really  is  ?  From 
his  first  appearance  below  there  I  was  much  puzzled  why 
M.  de  Maxwell  should  have  taken  so  unusual  an  interest 
in  him.  He  was  as  jealous  of  the  boy's  liking  for  me  as 
a  doting  mother  could  be,  and  was  more  distressed  over 
his  capture  than  many  a  father  would  have  been  over 
the  loss  of  his  son." 

''  Monsieur,"  I  answered,  trying  to  conceal  my  alarm, 
"  M.  de  Maxwell  lodged  for  some  time  in  London  in  the 
house  of  this  boy's  mother,  my  waiting-woman,  Lucy 
Routh.  Surely  his  meeting  again  with  the  lad  he  knew 
as  a  child  will  explain  his  interest." 

154 


RESCUED    FROM    A   GREAT    DANGER 

"  Indeed  ?  And  may  I  ask  when  it  was  that  he  lodged 
with  this  convenient  waiting-woman  ?"  he  said,  with  a 
sneer  that  set  my  blood  boiling. 

**  It  was  ten  years  ago,  monsieur.  Why  do  you  ask 
me  these  questions  ?'* 

"  Because  I  wish  to  try  a  small  problem  in  calculation. 
I  was  rude  enough  to  hazard  a  guess  at  your  age  the  first 
time  we  came  to  an  understanding.  Perhaps  it  was  un- 
gallant,  but  still,  it  remains.  I  said  then,  you  were  '  of 
a  certain  age,'  but  now,  to  be  exact,  we  will  say  you  are 
twenty-seven,  perhaps  twenty-six.  This  boy  in  whom 
such  a  paternal  interest  was  displayed  must  be  fifteen  or 
sixteen.  No,  that  will  not  adjust  itself.  Forgive  my 
thinking  out  loud.'* 

**  Monsieur,  this  is  intolerable  !  What  is  it  you  wish 
to  know  ?" 

"  Simply  if  M.  de  Maxwell  was  acquainted  with  this 
paragon  of  waiting-women  before  he  lodged  with  her  ten 
years  ago  ?" 

"  You  coward  !  Why  do  you  not  put  such  a  question 
to  M.  de  Maxwell  himself  ?" 

**  It  migiit  prove  embarrassing,  madame.  Almost  as 
embarrassing  as  if  I  had  obeyed  the  orders  of  your  friend 
M.  le  Mjirquis  de  Montcalm,  and  brought  you.  to  M.  le 
Chevalier  de  Maxwell,  as  you  desired." 

"  I  am  completely  at  a  loss  to  know  what  you  mean," 
I  said,  boldly,  but  my  heart  sank  at  his  words. 

*'  Simply  this,  madame,"  and  he  handed  me  an  open 
letter. 

"Monsieur"  [I  read], — "If  you  have  any  regard  for  me,  keep 
the  lady  claimiag  to  be  ray  wife  at  such  a  distance  tiiat  I  may  never 
set  eyes  on  her  again.  Should  she  be  in  want,  I  will  gladly  reim- 
burse you  for  any  expenditure  you  may  make  on  her  account. 

"  Lk  Chev  de  Maxwell." 

It  was  almost  like  a  blow,  and  for  a  moment  I  stood 
numb  and  bewildered ;  but  the  realisation  of  my  danger, 

155 


BBBBSBSSai 


TUE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


from  the  man  who  stood  there  smiling  at  my  degrada- 
tion, was  a  spur  to  me,  and  I  neither  fainted  nor  cried 
aloud. 

"A  pitiahle  situation,  truly!  Believe  me,  my  dear 
madunie,  my  heart  hleeds  for  you." 

**  You  are  a  liar,  as  well  us  a  coward,  monsieur.  I 
know  not  what  you  have  said  or  written  to  M.  de  Max- 
well, but  noitlier  he  nor  any  man  can  ever  cast  me  off.  I 
am  not  his  wife  I" 

**  Thank  God  for  that  I"  he  cried,  in  so  different  a 
voice  that  I  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Thank  God 
for  that !  Marguerite,  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart, 
and  body,  and  life.  I  know  I  am  nothing  but  a  rough 
coureur  de  hois,  in  spite  of  my  birth.  I  have  been  cruel 
to  you.  I  have  tortured  you.  Forgive  me,  forgive  me  ! 
I  knew  of  no  other  way  to  woo  you.  Teach  me  to  be 
gentle,  and  I  will  be  gentle  for  your  sake.  But,  God  in 
heaven  !  do  not  ask  me  to  give  you  up  I  I  cannot  live 
without  you.  I  have  lost  my  soul  to  you.  I  have  lost 
everything,  for  I  should  not  be  beside  you  even  now  !" 

"  No,  you  should  not !"  rang  out  a  clear  voice,  and  le 
p6re  Jean  stepped  into  the  path  before  us.  '*  Man  never 
spake  truer  words,  Sarennes.  I  have  followed  you  night 
and  day  to  bring  you  back  to  your  duty.  You  are  wait- 
ed for  every  hour  at  Louisbourg;  for  the  Indians  will  not 
move  without  yon." 

lie  spake  rapidly,  like  one  accustomed  to  command, 
and  at  the  same  time  held  forth  his  hand  to  me,  us  one 
might  to  a  child,  and  I  seized  it  in  both  mine,  and 
stepped  close  to  his  side. 

At  the  first  sound  of  the  priest's  voice  M.  de  Sarennes'a 
whole  aspect  changed  ;  his  face  took  on  a  hard,  obstinate 
look,  and  he  scowled  us  if  he  would  have  struck  the  man 
before  him,  but  he  answered  him  not  a  word. 

"Go!"  again  commanded  the  priest.  "Go  back  to 
Louisbourg  I    You  need  no  word  of  mine  to  urge  you ;  if 


RESCUED    FROM    A    GREAT    DANGER 


yon  do,  I  will  tell  you  the  Cross  of  St.  Louis  awaits  yon 
there." 

•'  What  care  I  for  your  Cross  of  St.  Louis  ?  I  am  not 
a  French  popinjay  to  be  dazzled  by  your  gewgaws  from 
Versailleb." 

'*  Then  go  because  your  honour  calls  1" 

"  Who  are  yon  to  prate  about  honour  ?  What  does  a 
priest  know  about  honour  ?  Keep  to  your  pater-nosters 
and  aves  !"  he  cried,  with  an  insulting  laugh. 

"  You  clown  !"  cried  the  priest,  trembling  with  indig- 
nation. '*  My  ancestors  carried  their  own  banner  to  the 
Sepulchre  of  Our  Lord,  when  yours  were  hewers  of  wood 
and  drawers  of  water  !  But,  forgive  me,"  he  added,  al- 
most in  the  same  breath,  "  this  is  beside  the  question. 
M.  de  Sarennes,  you  are  a  soldier,  and  as  such  your 
honour  is  dear  to  you  ;  there  are  hundreds  of  men,  aye, 
and  there  are  women  too,  whose  honour  and  safety  in  a 
few  weeks,  perhaps  sooner,  will  depend  on  5'our  succour. 
You  know  your  help  is  absolutely  necessary  in  the  event 
of  the  place  being  invested.  M.  de  Montcalm  expects 
you  to  be  at  your  post  ;  M.  de  Vaudreuil  has  himself 
given  you  his  orders  ;  your  Indians  will  follow  no  other 
than  yourself,  and  are  only  waiting  for  you  to  lead  them. 
No  one  knows  better  than  yourself  with  what  suspicion 
they  will  look  on  your  disappearance.  Your  name  will 
be  on  every  lip  in  Louisbourg,  and  every  eye  will  hourly 
watch  for  your  coming.  You  carry  the  safety  of  the 
fortress,  perliaps  of  the  country,  in  your  keeping." 

"What  you  say  is  no  doubt  true,  mon  p^re.  But  it 
rests  with  you  whether  I  go  or  not,"  he  returned,  in  u 
quiet  voice,  without  a  trace  of  the  passion  which  had 
swayed  him  :«.  moment  since. 

**  How  ?  In  what  way  can  it  rest  with  me  ?  I  have 
given  you  my  message,  your  orders." 

''Yes,  mon  p^re,  but  I  require  more  ;  I  wish  for  your 
blessing." 

157 


Hi 


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.i    : 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


I    ' 


"  You  shall  have  that,  my  son,  my  blessing  and  my 
constant  prayers." 

**  That  is  well,  mon  p6re,  but  I  require  more  ;  I  would 
have  your  blessing  for  another  also." 

"  For  whom  ?" 

"  For  this  lady,  mon  p6re.  If  you  wish  me  to  leave 
for  Louisbourg,  you  will  marry  me  first,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh. 

"  Madame  de  St.  Just." 

**  No,  not  *  Madame  de  St.  Just !'  But  she  will  then 
have  the  right  to  style  herself  *  Madame  de  Sarennes.* 
Don't  attempt  any  heroics  !"  he  went  on,  raising  his  voice 
angrily,  while  I  shrank  close  to  the  priest  in  terror.  "  I 
know  all  about  this  pretended  Madame  de  St.  Just,  per- 
haps even  better  than  do  you.  If  I  choose  to  give  her  an 
honourable  name,  it  is  my  own  affair.  Don't  prate  to  me 
about  honour  !  I  am  here  because  it  does  not  weigh  with 
me  for  the  moment.  Don't  talk  to  me  of  the  safety  of 
the  country  ;  it  is  in  your  hands.  I  tell  you  plainly  I 
will  not  go  otherwise.  Marry  me  to-day,  and  I  will  start 
to-night ;  if  not,  then  any  blame  there  may  be  will  lie  not 
on  my  head,  but  on  yours.  Now,  monsieur,  you  have  my 
answer." 

The  two  men  stood  facing  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
silence. 

Then  the  priest  turned  to  me  :  "  Will  you  marry  this 
man,  my  daughter  ?" 

**  Oh,  mon  p6re  I"  I  cried,  shuddering,  and  holding 
closer  to  him. 

He  stepped  in  front  of  me  and  faced  the  Canadian. 
"  Go  !"  he  commanded.  "  Go  !  You  may  succour  Louis- 
bourg or  not,  as  you  will,  but  before  I  would  raise  my 
hand  in  such  a  sacrilege  as  you  have  dared  to  insult  your 
God  in  proffering,  I  would  see  it  withered  to  the  bone.  I 
will  try  to  believe  you  led  astray  by  your  evil  passions, 
that  you  are  not  sane  for  the  moment  ]  and  if  God  see  fit 

168 


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RESCUED  FROM  A  GREAT  DANGER 

to  leave  you  in  your  present  evil  possession,  He  will  have 
punished  you  more  fearfully  than  any  curse  of  mine  can 
do.  Go,  and  may  God  pity  you  !  Come,  my  daughter," 
he  said  to  me. 


Holding  my  hand  in  his  strong,  assuring  grasp,  he  led  me 
beside  him,  safe  in  his  protecting  presence.  Before  we 
gained  the  open  path  he  stopped,  and,  motioning  me  to 
be  soated  on  a  log,  he  remained  standing.  The  moment 
he  withdrew  his  hand  the  distance  between  us  seemed 
immeasurable  ;  all  his  protection,  all  his  comradeship 
were  withdrawn  with  his  grasp,  and  he  stood  before  me 
as  the  priest  and  judge  only. 

**  I  have  no  wish  to  add  to  your  trouble,"  he  began, 
slowly,  and  almost  unwillingly,  I  thought,  **  but  for  your 
own  safety  I  must  make  it  clear  to  you,  beyond  further 
question  or  casuistry,  what  your  position  now  is,  and  to 
what  your  disobedience  has  led.  For  yourself,  you  are 
in  a  position  sevenfold  worse  than  you  were  before  ;  you 
have  carried  the  harmless  deception  I  authorised  to  a 
point  that  has  placed  you  in  a  most  dangerous  and  humil- 
iating situation.  Sarennes  has  become  infatuated  with 
you  to  an  extent  which  threatens  ruin  to  himself,  disgrace 
to  those  nearest  him,  and,  perhaps,  disaster  to  greater 
and  more  important  interests.  Nay,  do  not  rise  or  speak. 
I  know  you  would  disclaim  any  part  in  the  matter,  but 
unfortunately  your  intention  does  not  alter  facts ;  it  is 
your  presence  here  that  is  at  fault.  Beyond  this  you  are 
personally  in  extreme  peril ;  you  mast  realise  that  this 
man  knows  nothing  of  the  restrictions  which  sliould 
govern  his  conduct  towards  you.  Blinded  as  ho  is  by 
his  passion,  he  will  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  curry  you 
off,  if  need  be,  and  his  conscience  will  never  suffer  a  mo- 
ment's pang,  provided  he  find  a  priest  to  patter  the  words 
of  tlie  marriage-service  over  you,  if,  indeed,  he  even  hold 
such  a  concession  to  your  feelings  necessary.  The  presence 

169 


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A 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


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of  his  mother  and  sister  is  no  real  protection,  and  even 
his  absence  is  no  assurance  of  safety,  for  he  can  readily 
find  means  to  carry  out  his  purpose  without  appearing  on 
the  scene  himself.  You  had  better  stay  within-doors, 
or  at  least  within  sight  of  the  house,  until  the  immediate 
danger  is  past.  I  will  not  go  with  you  farther  now,  as  I 
have  no  wish  to  offer  more  explanations  than  may  be 
absolutely  necessary,  and  I  must  follow  this  unhappy 
man,  if  haply  I  yet  may  turn  him  to  his  duty.  Do  you 
go  on  to  the  house,  and  when  I  return,  perhaps  on  the 
morrow,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  Oh,  mon  pcire,  mon  pere,  forgive  me  before  I  go!"  I 
cried,  kneeling  at  his  feet. 

"  There  is  no  question  of  my  forgiveness,"  he  an- 
swered, coldly.  ^*  You  must  learn  that  wrong -doing 
need  not  be  personal  to  produce  evil.  There  is  no  ques- 
tion of  me  or  thee  in  the  matter  at  all.  It  is  much 
greater,  much  more  serious  tlian  any  personal  feeling, 
and  the  results  mav  swell  out  of  all  proportion,  that  you 
can  sec,  to  your  action.  All  that  can  be  done  now  is  to 
remedy  it  in  so  far  as  in  us  lies.  Go,  my  daughter,  go 
and  ask  for  guidance,  the  one  thing  needful,  far  above 
any  mere  human  forgiveness.  But  do  not  go  thinking 
you  have  forfeited  either  my  sympathy  or  my  help.  I 
owe  both  to  you,  as  to  every  helpless  creature  God  sends 
into  my  path  ;  and,  believe  me,  no  one  could  appeal  more 
strongly  to  my  jooor  protection  than  do  you.  Go,  my 
daughter,  and  may  God  keep  and  comfort  you  !" 

I  found  my  way  back,  dazed  and  confounded,  and 
could  only  with  the  greatest  effort  command  myself  suf- 
ficiently to  return  some  coherent  answer  to  Angelique's 
inquiry  as  to  her  brotlier  ;  but  she  covered  my  confusion 
with  her  own  liveliness. 

"  Never  marry  a  soldier,  *  mademoiselle  !' "  she  ex- 
claimed.    ''They  worry  one's  life  out  with  their  eternal 

As  likely  as   not  Charles  is  off 
160 


comings  and  goings. 


"A    STUAKillT   I'lLLAU  OK  FlUE  WENT    l.KAl'iNO    LI'  IMO  TIIK   NUilH' 


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RESCUED    FROM    A    GREAT    DANGER 


again,  and  will  never  come  near  ns  to  say  farewell ;  but 
that  is  a  bagatelle.  The  real  trouble  is  that  my  mother 
is  an  old  woman ;  she  realises  keenly  that  any  day  Charles 
may  say  good-bye  for  the  last  time,  and  to  spare  her  the 
pain  of  parting,  he  has  more  than  once  slipped  off  quietly 
like  this.  Never  was  a  man  so  tender  of  women  as  my 
brother  Charles  !  But  you  are  pale  ;  you  look  tired  out. 
It  is  often  so  in  spring-time  in  this  country.  What  you 
should  do  is  to  get  to  bed  at  once,  and  have  Lucie  bring 
you  a  tisane  when  you  are  ready  for  sleep.  Go,  that  is 
wise." 

It  was  such  a  relief  to  be  alone,  to  lie  broken  and 
wretched,  but  safe  and  by  myself,  in  my  own  chamber, 
that  for  the  moment  this  sufficed  me ;  then  sleep  came 
to  me,  and  when  I  awoke,  quieted  and  refreshed,  the 
house  was  still,  and  Lucy  lay  sleeping  in  her  cot  near  by. 

With  the  waking,  came  back  the  whole  dreadful  scene 
through  which  I  had  just  passed,  and  in  my  ears  rang 
the  warnings  of  le  pere  Jean  touching  my  safety.  Alas  I 
I  realised  the  danger  only  too  vividly,  and  I  trembled  in 
the  darkness  at  the  pictures  I  could  not  help  forming  in 
my  mind.  There  seemed  no  outlet  and  no  end  to  my 
misery.  Even  the  thought  of  facing  the  mother,  who 
saw  naught  but  the  chivalrous  soldier  in  her  son,  and  the 
sister,  who  so  firmly  believed  in  the  tenderness  and  mag- 
nanimity of  her  brother,  was  a  torture  to  me.  In  Lucy 
it  would  be  impossible  as  well  as  dishonourable  to  confide, 
and,  with  the  priest  gone,  I  stood  alone  against  a  danger 
the  very  existence  of  which  would  be  a  degradation  to 
reveal. 

Suddenly  I  remembered  Gabriel  and  the  promise 
which  I  had  dismissed  so  lightly  at  the  time  of  its  mak- 
ing, and  at  once  a  way  of  escape  opened  before  me. 


il 


I  did  not  hesitate  a  moment ;  slipping  noiselessly  out 
L  161 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


of  bed,  I  dressed  myself,  and  taking  my  heavy  cloak  and 
shoes  in  my  hand,  I  stole  out  of  my  room  and  into  the 
kitchen,  where  I  felt  for  the  box  with  the  steel  and  flint 
beside  the  fireplace,  and  then  opening  the  door,  I  stood 
alone  in  the  quiet  night. 

I  was  country-born,  if  not  country-bred,  which  served 
me  in  good  stead  now  ;  for  the  night  had  not  the  terrors 
for  me  I  had  feared,  and  I  marvelled  at  my  courage  as  I 
went  on.  I  had  only  one  anxiety  in  mind,  and  that  was 
lest  the  beacon  should  not  be  in  a  fit  state  for  firing. 
Thinking  of  nothing  else,  I  hurried  down  the  path  by 
the  Little  Elver  until  I  reached  the  Beacon  Point,  where, 
to  my  relief,  I  found  the  pile  of  wood  dry  and  undis- 
turbed. 

I  knelt  beside  it ;  but  at  first  my  hands  trembled  so 
I  could  not  strike  a  spark  ;  however,  the  very  effort 
steadied  me,  and,  gathering  some  small  twigs,  in  a  few 
minutes  I  had  my  tinder  alight,  the  twigs  caught,  with 
them  I  lighted  others,  and  when  I  rose  to  my  feet  the 
flame  was  curling  up  through  the  skilfully  piled  branches, 
and  in  a  few  moments  a  straight  pillar  of  fire  went  leap- 
ing up  into  the  night. 

163 


Ul 


CHAPTER  XIX 


% 


ON   THE    ISLE   AUX   C0UDRE8 


Now  that  tlio  beacon  was  fairly  alight  my  purpose  was 
accomplished,  and  I  was  free  to  return  to  the  house  ;  but 
the  night  was  warm,  there  was  no  sound  save  the  lapping 
of  the  rising  tide,  or  the  short  quick  pufE  of  some  slowly 
turning  porpoise  from  out  the  darkness  beyond,  and  I 
stood  there  for  what  I  suppose  was  a  long  time,  held  by 
the  spell  of  the  perfect  quiet.  At  length  I  roused  my- 
self, and  began  to  retrace  my  steps,  but  as  I  gained  the 
line  of  the  pine  wood  I  turned  aside  and  stood  a  moment 
for  a  last  look  at  the  friendly  beacon  flaring  up  into  the 
darkness.  The  loud  crackle  of  the  wood  seemed  like 
joyous  cries  of  encouragement,  and  the  strong  ruddy 
flame  filled  me  with  a  fresh  confidence.  On  the  mor- 
row, if  Gabriel  should  appear,  I  would  announce  our  de- 
parture for  Quebec,  and  once  there  would  place  myself 
under  the  protection  of  M.  de  Montcalm  until.  .  .  . 

*'0h,  Heaven  !"  I  almost  screamed,  for  I  heard  foot- 
steps hurriedly  approaching,  and  had  only  time  to  with- 
draw more  completely  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees  when 
Luntook,  the  Indian,  came  running  down  the  path,  and 
in  an  instant  scattered  the  fire  on  all  sides,  hurling  the 
blazing  brands  over  the  clifE  and  covering  up  the  embers 
until  not  a  spark  remained. 

When  the  fire  was  completely  extinguished  he  looked 
about  him  slowly,  while  I  cowered  there  in  mortal  ter- 
ror, believing  he  would  immediately  search  for  and 
certainly  discover  me ;  but,  to  my  surprise,  he  walked 

163 


ii!^ 


1^ 


n 


? 


■  11 


i 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

silently  past  my  shelter  and  kept  his  way  along  the 
path. 

I  was  simply  paralysed  with  fear.  I  could  not  have 
screamed  or  made  a  move  had  my  life  depended  on  it ; 
the  very  presence  of  the  man  struck  terror  to  my  soul, 
for  he  seemed  the  personification  of  all  the  possibility  of 
evil  in  his  master.  He  it  was,  I  well  knew,  who  would 
carry  out  any  violence  which  might  be  determined  against 
me,  and  the  fact  of  his  remaining  about  the  place  when 
his  master  was  supposed  to  have  left,  filled  me  with  alarm. 
I  was  persuaded  I  was  to  be  carried  off,  perhaps  on  the 
morrow,  and  the  priest^s  warning  came  back  to  me  with 
renewed  insistence. 

My  burden  of  fear  so  grew  upon  me  that  I  dared  not 
remain  within  the  shadow  of  the  wood,  for  every  sound 
in  its  depths  shook  me  with  a  new  terror,  and  every  mo- 
ment I  imagined  I  could  feel  the  Indian  stealing  nearer 
me  in  the  darkness.  I  dared  not  look  behind  me,  I  dared 
hardly  move  forward,  but  my  dread  of  the  wood  was 
greater  than  that  of  the  open  beach,  and  I  somehow 
managed  to  clamber  down  the  cliff  and  took  shelter  be- 
hind a  great  bowlder,  where  I  could  hear  the  soothing 
ripple  of  the  water  and  feel  the  soft  wind  against  my 
face.  It  brought  a  sense  of  being  removed  from  the  laud 
and  men ;  I  was  more  alone,  but  I  felt  safer. 

The  chill  of  the  night  struck  through  me  to  the  bone, 
and  I  was  burdened  with  i^n  length  ;  it  seemed  as  if  time 
were  standing  still.  But  at  lust  I  was  roused  by  the 
hoarse  call  of  birds  passing  high  overhead,  and  saw  the 
sky  was  paling  in  the  east.  Slowly,  slowly  the  gray 
dawn  came,  trees  began  to  detach  themselves  and  stand 
out  against  the  sky,  rocks  took  a  vague  form  against  the 
sands,  the  wicker  lines  of  the  fishery  grew  distinct  in  the 
receding  waters,  while  white  wreaths  of  mist  rose  smoke- 
like from  the  Little  River. 

Slowly,  slowly  grew  the  glory  in  the  east,  and  when  at 

164 


ON    THE    ISLE    AU    COUDRES 


length  the  first  beams  of  the  sun  strnck  strong  and  clear 
across  the  bay,  making  a  shining  pathway  to  my  very 
feet,  it  seemed  so  actually  a  Heaven-sent  way  of  escape 
that,  trembling  in  every  limb,  I  rose  and  staggered  for- 
ward as  if  it  were  possible  to  tread  it ;  and  then,  recover- 
ing my  distracted  senses,  I  fell  to  crying  like  a  child. 

The  tears  brought  relief,  and  I  began  to  bestir  myself, 
to  move  about  quickly,  until  I  could  feel  my  stiffened 
limbs  again,  and  recovered  some  sense  of  warmth.  I  did 
not  dare  to  leave  the  open  security  of  the  beach  until  the 
sun  was  higher,  when  I  wandered  out  to  the  extreme  end 
of  the  sands,  looking  anxiously  for  some  answer  to  my 
signal  from  the  Isle  aux  Coudres,  but  the  opposite  shore 
was  hidden  by  a  close  bank  of  white  cloud,  broken  only 
by  the  rounded  tops  of  the  mountains  above  Les  Eboule- 
ments.  Presently  the  cloud  began  to  lift  tnd  scatter, 
and  I  could  make  out  the  island  lying  low  and  dun 
against  the  higher  main-land.  But  no  answering  smoke 
broke  the  clear  morning  air ;  indeed,  it  seemed  impossi- 
ble that  my  signal,  which  had  not  burned  for  an  hour  at 
most,  could  be  seen  at  such  a  distance.  I  turned  away 
with  an  empty  heart,  when  I  caught  sight  of  a  boat 
standing  up  close  inshore,  her  sails  filled  with  the  fresh- 
ening morning  breeze. 

The  mere  presence  of  a  means  of  escape  changed  ev- 
erything in  a  moment.  I  was  filled  with  a  new  courage, 
and  climbing  to  the  top  of  the  outermost  bowlder,  I  drew 
the  long  white  scarf  from  my  neck  and  waved  it  to  and 
fro  above  my  head.  To  my  intense  joy,  I  was  answered 
by  the  boat  hauling  round,  and  lowering  and  raising  the 
point  of  one  of  her  sails — the  same  signal  I  had  seen  Ga- 
briel make  to  M.  de  Montcalm  off  Cap  Tourmeute.  It 
was  Gabriel  himself  I  his  signal  assured  me  of  it ;  and  at 
the  sight  the  morning  took  on  a  n<ew  glory,  for  the  terror 
and  bitterness  of  the  night  had  passed  as  I  watched  the 
boat  as  my  deliverance  hastening  towards  me. 

165 


'I 


ifil 


^\ 


iri 


■ 


1  ' 


iff' 


1.) 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

As  she  came  on,  I  made  out  Gabriel  distinctly,  and  be- 
fore long  the  boat  was  lying  motionless,  Gabriel  had  his 
shallop  over  the  side,  and  a  moment  later  was  splashing 
through  the  shallow  water,  and  bowing  as  though  he  had 
parted  from  me  only  yesterday. 

"  '  Hon  cliien  chasse  de  race,*  madame.  I  was  cruising 
about,  as  I  always  am,  ready  for  the  first  ship  which  ap- 
pears, wlien  I  saw  the  light ;  and  though  it  did  not  burn 
long  enough  for  a  signal,  I  thought  it  well  to  look  it  up  ; 
and  now,  madame,  I  am  at  your  orders,  as  I  promised. 
I  was  sure  you  would  want  me  some  day.'' 

"  Oh,  Gabriel,  I  do  want  you  !  I  never  stood  in  great- 
er need.     Take  me  on  board,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

He  sliowed  no  surprise  at  my  demand,  but  merely  re- 
peating his  favourite  proverb,  **  ce  que  fenime  veut,  Dieu 
le  veut,"  lifted  me  in  his  arms  like  a  child,  and  carried 
mo  through  mud  and  water,  and  set  me  in  his  shallop, 
when  a  few  strokes  brought  us  alongside  the  boat,  and  I 
was  in  safety  on  her  deck.  Then  the  sails  were  once  more 
set,  and  we  stood  away  from  the  shore  and  up  the  river. 

He  did  not  question  me,  nor,  indeed,  would  he  allow 
me  to  speak,  until  he  had  provided  a  hot  drink  of  some 
sweetened  spirit,  which  brought  back  the  glow  to  my 
blood,  and  then  he  set  about  preparing  breakfast,  keep- 
ing up  an  incessant  chatter  the  while,  until  he  had  me 
laughing  at  liis  flow  of  talk. 

"  Aha  !  That  is  better !"  he  exclaimed,  joyfully. 
"  Now,  madame,  what  are  your  orders  ?" 

"  Can  you  take  me  to  Quebec  ?" 

"I  can — but — "  and  his  face  lengthened. 

"But  what  ?" 

"  Well,  madame,  to  be  truthful,  I  am  expecting  the 
first  ships  every  day  now  ;  they  are  late  as  it  is  ;  and  if  I 
am  off  the  ground,  why,  then  the  bread  must  drop  iuto 
some  one  else's  basket !     That  is  all." 

166 


I 

I 

'51 

'   i] 


\h 


he  caruied  mk  tuuul'uii  mud  and  watuu,  and  set  me  in  1ii8 

shallop" 


JM|: 


U,A 


c 
<3 


'J' 


ON    THE    ISLE   AUX   COUDRES 

"I  can  pay  you  well  for  what  you  may  lose  in  this 
way." 

"  It  is  not  only  the  money,  madame,  '  I'argent  est  rond 
et  qb,  roule/  but  I  have  always  brought  up  the  first  ship 
since  I  was  twenty,  and  that  was  not  last  Sunday,  as  one 
may  guess.    Yet,  if  madame  says  so,  I  am  at  her  orders.'* 

**I  do  not  know  what  to  say,  Gabriel.  I  will  not  re- 
turn to  Beaulieu,  and  though  I  want  to  reach  Quebec,  I 
cm  unwilling  you  should  miss  your  ship  ;  but  I  certainly 
cannot  remain  on  board  here  while  you  are  with  her." 

**Bedame  !  I  have  a  plan,  if  it  will  answer.  We  are 
at  no  distance  from  the  Island,  my  good  wife  is  alone,  as 
usual,  and,  if  I  do  not  ask  too  much,  could  you  not  put 
up  with  her  for  a  week  or  two  at  most  until  I  pick  up 
my  ship,  and  then  the  trick  is  done  ?  Our  house  is  clean, 
my  wife  is  the  best  of  managers,  and  will  do  everything 
to  make  you  comfortable." 

**  That  will  answer  admirably,  Gabriel." 

'*  Good  I  Madame,  I  can  also  return  to  Beaulieu  and 
fetch  your  woman  and  such  things  as  you  may  desire." 

For  the  first  time  I  remembered  Lucy,  and  was  filled 
with  remorse  at  the  thought  of  my  desertion  of  her. 
What  could  I  do  ?  To  send  word  back  to  Beaulieu  now 
would  be  to  betray  my  retreat ;  and  what  explanation 
could  I  offer  to  my  kindly  hosts  ? 

Gabriel,  with  ready  tact,  saw  my  distress. 

**  Pardon,  madame  ;  I  am  not  asking  questions ;  I  am 
not  even  thinking  them.  You  shall  come  and  go  as  you 
like  with  me  and  mine,  and  no  one  shall  dare  to  do  aught 
but  obey  you.  If  my  plan  does  not  suit,  say  so  freely, 
madame,  and  we  will  go  on  to  Quebec  without  another 
thought,  and  the  King's  ship  must  wait,  or  go  on  with 
such  bungler  as  she  may  find." 

"  No,  no,  Gabriel';  I  will  not  have  it  so.  I  can  remain 
on  the  Island  for  a  week  as  well  as  not,  and,  in  fact,  will 
do  nothing  else.    That  is  settled.    And,  Gabriel,  because 

167 


■I. 

R. 


•#1 


t  L 


^ 


Vi    7\ 


■  ' 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

you  are  a  brave  and  loyal  man  I  shall  trust  you  further 
— I  do  not  wisli  any  one  to  know  where  I  am  while  on  the 
Island,  unless  I  can  get  word  to  le  p6re  Jean." 

"Oil,  as  for  that,  you  are  going  to  meet  him  ;  for  he 
is  due  on  the  Island  even  now.  He  always  comes  about 
this  time  to  see  what  is  left  of  us  after  the  winter." 

"Then  I  am  quite  satisfied.  Now  tell  me,  have  you 
any  news  from  Louisbourg  ?" 

"Nothing,  madame  ;  no  ship  has  come  up  yet;  but 
it  will  not  be  long  before  we  hear  now." 

"  Then  I  shall  expect  to  hear  when  you  return  for 


me. 


}> 


"You  will,  madame;  depend  upon  it,  I  will  bring 
you  ne»vs.  And  now,  if  I  may  offer  a  counsel,  which  I 
am  sure  is  wise,  I  would  say,  madame,  that  you  should 
lie  down  and  try  to  sleep." 

The  advice  was  as  welcome  as  it  was  wise,  and  it  was 
not  long  ere  I  carried  it  out. 

When  I  awoke,  it  was  well  on  in  the  afternoon,  and  we 
were  close  inshore. 

"  Yes,  madame,  it  is  the  Island.  There  is  my  house — 
the  one  with  the  flag-staff.  See,  my  good  woman  has 
the  signal  flying  for  me.  I  can  never  come  within  reach 
without  her  scenting  me  out." 

There  was  a  fine  pride  in  his  words,  and  his  house  was 
worthy  of  it.  A  clean,  honest,  white  face  it  presented, 
framed  in  young  hop-vines  carefully  trained  up  the  low 
curving  roof,  and  set  in  a  garden  which  already  gave 
promise  of  much  bloom.  His  wife,  a  plump,  comely 
woman,  waited  for  us  at  the  landing-place. 

"  Ma  bonne  amie  !"  said  Gabriel,  embracing  her.  "Ma- 
dame de  St.  Just  has  crossed  with  me  froin  Beaulieu  to 
await  le  pere  Jean  here,  and  will  stay  with  you  until  he 
comes." 

"Your  servant,  madame."  she  answered,  with  a  neat 

m 


!■, 


ON    THE    ISLE    AUX    COUDRES 

courtesy.  "  If  my  good  man  had  let  me  know  you  were 
coming,  I  would  have  been  better  prepared." 

**  'Qui  n'a,  ne  pent,'  ma  bonne  femme.  You  will  do 
your  best,  and  madame  will  not  ask  for  more.  Had  she 
known  of  her  coming  herself,  she  would  have  travelled 
with  her  servant,  as  she  is  used ;  but  she  comes  alone, 
because  she  has  great  need,  and  I  assured  her  you  would 
be  proud  to  do  all  you  can  for  her  sake." 

**  So  I  will,  madame  ;  do  not  let  my  husband  make  you 
believe  I  am  not  more  than  pleased  to  have  you  in  my 
poor  house.  You  do  us  too  much  honour  in  asking  it. 
Come,  madame,  let  me  shew  you  the  way." 

The  house  lost  nothing  of  its  charm  on  a  nearer  ap- 
proach, and  its  interior  spake  volumes  for  its  keeper's 
cleanliness — not  a  common  quality  in  the  country,  as  I 
discovered  later.  The  furniture  was  of  the  simplest 
description,  but  the  well-scrubbed  floor  was  covered  with 
bright-coloured  strips  of  home-made  carpeting — "les  cat- 
alogues," as  she  called  it — and  in  one  corner  stood  the 
pride  of  the  family,  the  great  bed — a  huge  construction, 
covered  with  a  marvellous  quilt  of  patchwork,  and  hung 
with  spotless  valance  and  curtains. 

Gabriel  was  to  set  off  by  the  next  tide,  and  left  only 
after  charging  his  Amelia  with  numberless  instructions 
as  to  my  care  and  comfort. 

**0h,  these  men  !"  laughed  the  good-natured  woman. 
*'  They  think  the  world  can't  turn  round  without  their 
advice !" 


"    's 


'  11 


I  was  too  tired  and  too  safe  not  to  sleep  well,  and  when 
the  smiling  face  of  Madame  Dufour  appeared  at  my  bed- 
side in  the  morning,  it  was  to  inform  me  that  le  pore 
Jean's  canoe  was  already  in  sight,  and  he  would  be  at  the 
Island  in  less  than  an  hour. 

Eager  as  I  was  to  see  him,  I  could  not  but  dread  the 
meeting  and  what  he  might  say  of  my  desertion,  though 

109 


THE    STAN    0'    LIFE 

I  begged  my  hostess  to  meet  him  and  tell  him  I  was 
awaiting  his  leisure. 

"  Oh,  mon  pere,  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  !"  I  cried, 
when  we  were  alone. 

"  Thank  God  you  are  safe  and  in  good  hands,"  he  re- 
turned, warmly.  '*  How  was  it  you  came  to  take  this 
step  ?" 

Thereupon  I  told  him  of  my  attempt  to  signal  for 
Gabriel,  of  the  appearance  of  Luntook,  of  my  terror,  and 
of  my  sudden  resolve  on  the  pilot's  appearance.  "  It 
was  only  when  I  felt  myself  safe,  mon  pere,  that  I  re- 
membered what  my  action  might  mean  to  otliers ;  and 
now  I  am  miserable  at  the  thought  of  the  anxiety  I  have 
caused.     What  can  be  done  ?" 

*'  I  cannot  blame  you,  my  daughter ;  you  have  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  dangers  you  know  nothing  of, 
in  surroundings  which  are  strange  to  you  ;  it  is  well  for 
your  own  sake  you  should  be  removed  from  the  constant 
dread  of  their  recurrence.  I  guessed  at  your  destination, 
for  on  landing  the  same  morning  you  left,  Andre  and  I 
saw  the  beacon  had  been  lighted,  and  a  very  little  look- 
ing about  convinced  us  of  what  had  happened,  for  we  not 
only  found  your  scarf,  but  Gabriel's  marks  in  the  sand 
were  plain  directions." 

"  But,  mon  pere,  what  of  them  at  the  house  ?" 

*'It  is  a  time  of  war,  my  daughter,"  he  returned,  smil- 
ing. *'  More  than  one  person  is  moving  about  the  coun- 
try in  a  mysterious  way  ;  much  greater  freedom  is  allow- 
ed ;  and  when  I  explained  to  Mme.  de  Sarennes  that  you 
were  in  my  care,  and  it  was  necessary  you  should  be  ab- 
sent for  a  time,  she  was  satisfied  with  my  word,  and  bade 
your  woman  make  up  a  packet  of  necessaries  for  you, 
which  Andre  will  bring  presently.  You  cannot  do  better 
than  remain  where  you  are  until  I  can  arrange  for  your 
woman  to  meet  you  and  go  on  to  Quebec  together.  I 
soon  shall  know  what  opportunity  offers  for  a  passage  to 

170 


ON    THE    ISLE    AUX    COUDRES 

France,  which  will  be  somewhat  uncertain  now,  as  the 
English  who  wintered  at  Halifax  are  at  sea  again ;  but 
there  is  time  enougli  to  decide  ;  the  whole  summer  is 
before  us." 

And  all  this  without  a  word,  without  a  look  of  re- 
proach ;  how  my  heart  went  out  to  him  for  his  forbear- 
ance ! 

At  length  I  asked  the  question  which  was  always  with 
me  :  '*Mon  pere,  is  there  any  news  ?" 

*'From  Louisbourg  ?  Nothing  that  is  hopeful.  A 
more  formidable  fleet  than  ever  before  has  left  England  ; 
we  cannot  expect  any  succour  from  France ;  and  Louis- 
bourg  is  probably  invested  by  this  time,  if  the  enemy 
have  made  good  their  landing.  Before  another  month 
the  matter  will  be  pushed  to  an  issue,  and  it  will  be 
against  us,  unless  the  place  can  be  relieved.'* 

Where  the  expected  relief  was  to  come  from  I  did  not 
dare  to  ask,  as  I  could  not  doubt  but  that  M.  de  Sarennes 
was  an  important  factor  in  the  plan. 

Le  pure  Jean  had  manifold  duties  to  perform  during 
his  short  stay  ;  impatient  couples  were  married,  children 
were  baptised,  and  many  an  anxious  heart  relieved  of  the 
burthen  which  it  had  borne  alone  through  the  long  im- 
prisonment of  the  winter.  He  did  not  suffer  me  to  re- 
main idle  either,  for  he  gathered  the  children  about  him, 
and  showed  me  how  to  instruct  them  in  the  elements  of 
our  faith. 

*' Here  is  your  work,"  he  said,  smiling.  ''You  have 
your  education  and  sympathy  on  the  one  hand,  and  on 
the  other  are  these  little  black  and  brown  heads— Ber- 
gerons, Tremblays,  Gauthiers,  and  so  on  —  to  be  tilled 
with  some  measure  of  the  grace  which  God  intended  for 
each  of  them.  It  will  be  a  comfort  to  me  to  think  of  them 
in  your  hands  while  I  am  sent  on  my  Master's  business, 
often  into  paths  not  of  my  own  choosing.  Do  not  on  any 
account  be  tempted  to  leave  here  until  I  come  or  send 

171 


4  i 


I 


i 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

for  yon.  Even  if  M.  de  Sarennes  should  appear,  be  un- 
der no  apprehension,  for  all  you  need  do  is  to  tell  Mme. 
Dufour,  and  it  will  be  a  delight  to  her  to  balk  his  plans, 
as  there  is  no  love  lost  between  these  Islanders  and  the 
people  of  the  main-land." 

**  I  will  do  my  best,  mon  pSre.  When  may  I  look  for 
your  return  ?" 

**I  cannot  tell,  perhaps  in  a  month  or  so ;  but  do  not 
lot  that  disturb  you  ;  for,  even  if  I  am  prevented,  I  will 
surely  send  you  word  what  to  do.  Seek  your  quiet  in 
your  daily  task,  and  your  comfort  in  prayer." 

So  he  took  his  way,  leaving  me  in  such  content  as  was 
possible.  Had  I  dared  I  would  have  questioned  him 
about  the  letter,  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  ac- 
knowledge this  humiliation,  even  to  him.  I  felt  it  so 
keenly,  that  I  no  longer  wondered  my  tormenter  had  felt 
himself  free  to  make  any  proposal,  when  it  was  but  to  one 
whom  he  believed  to  be  the  discarded  wife  of  another, 
and  1  fou:'.d  a  new  misery  in  vain  imaginings  of  what 
had  been  written  to  call  forth  so  heartless  a  reply.  I 
would  comfort  myself  at  one  moment  by  thinking  it  was 
not  intended  for  me,  only  to  be  met  by  the  alterna- 
tive of  Hugh  being  married  to  another.  Turn  which 
way  I  might,  I  could  frame  no  explanation  which  brouglit 
any  comfort.  If  the  letter  were  for  me,  then  had  no  man 
ever  betrayed  love  more  cruelly  ;  if  for  another,  then  I 
had  thrown  away  my  life. 

My  work  with  the  children  was  the  greatest  boon  which 
could  h"ve  been  granted  me ;  it  kept  me  sane  and  healthy, 
and  my  heart  went  out  to  the  little  ignorant  souls  so  full 
of  life  and  affection.  It  was  no  task  ;  it  was  a  welcome 
labour  of  love  ;  and  the  children  saw  and  felt  it  as  such  ; 
on  their  side,  their  little  feet  were  never  too  weary  nor 
their  little  hands  too  tired  to  respond  to  any  service  I 
might  ask  of  them. 

m 


ON    THE    ISLE    AUX    COUDRES 


But  despite  their  love  and  the  unfailing  kindness  of 
Mme.  Dufour,  it  was  impossible  to  escape  from  my  pain. 
My  daily  refuge  was  the  altar  of  the  little  church,  where 
night  and  morn,  often  in  company  of  some  other  lonely 
woman  anxious  for  the  safety  of  son  or  husband  far  at 
sea,  I  laid  bare  my  soul  in  an  agony  of  supplication  for 
the  safety  of  the  one  dear  to  me  above  all  others  ;  and  I 
found  support,  too,  in  the  thought  of  the  devoted  priest 
pursuing  his  lonely  way,  consecrating  his  life  and  effort 
for  others,  most  of  whom  made  no  return,  for  they  knew 
not  the  greatness  of  his  sacrifice. 


•■I 


The  rnmours  that  reached  us  during  the  next  two 
months  brought  no  assuagement  to  our  fears,  and  when 
le  pere  Jean  came,  towards  the  middle  of  August,  men, 
women,  and  children  gathered  on  the  beach  to  welcome 
him.  His  white,  worn  face  and  wearied  bearing  told  his 
message  before  he  spake  a  word,  and  my  heart  failed  me 
at  the  sight. 

With  his  unfailing  consideration,  he  turned  to  me  the 
moment  he  saw  my  distress.  "  Le  Chevalier  de  Max- 
well is  safe  ;  he  escaped  the  night  the  capitulation  was 
signed,"  he  whispered,  and  then  turned  with  his  news 
towards  the  anxious  people. 

Like  one  afar  off  I  heard  him  tell  of  the  long  siege,  of 
the  hardships  endured,  the  courage  displayed,  the  sur- 
render of  the  ruined  fortress,  and  the  removal  of  the 
garrison  to  the  ships  of  war  ;  but  in  the  selfishness  of 
love  my  lieart  was  too  full  of  gratitude  to  have  under- 
standing for  auglit  else. 

When  the  story  was  ended,  and  the  eager  questioners 
answered,  he  turned  to  me  again,  and,  inviting  me  to  fol- 
low, we  took  our  way  towards  the  church. 

"You  are  anxious  to  hear  more,"  he  said,  gently. 
"  Let  me  tell  you  all  I  know.  M.  de  Maxwell  left  the 
town  only  after  the  capitulation  was  reluctantly  agreed 

178 


'HI 


n 


i' 


^(K 


i  :■' 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 


i        ! 


to  by  M.  (le  Drnconr,  who,  with  all  his  officers,  had  pro- 
tested against  it,  and  would  willingly  have  held  out  even 
beyond  hope.  He  ran  the  gantlet  of  the  batteries  the 
whole  length  of  the  harbour  in  safety ;  he  was  at  Mira- 
michi  only  two  days  before  I  arrived  there,  and  took  com- 
mand of  some  Canadians  in  charge  of  a  number  of  Eng- 
lish prisoners  to  lead  them  to  Quebec.  So  you  may  com- 
fort yourself  with  the  thought  jf  his  safety,  and  that 
your  prayers  have  been  answered." 

"  What  will  happen  now,  mon  pere  ?" 

"  That  is  impossible  to  say ;  except  that  the  English 
will  certainly  push  every  advantage  they  have  gained, 
and,  unless  substantial  help  comes  from  without,  the 
outlook  is  desperate." 

"  Did  no  help  come  to  Louisbourg,  mon  pere  ?" 

*'None,"  he  answered;  and  the  cne  word  sank  into 
my  heart  like  a  knell.  He  parted  from  me  at  the  church 
door,  and  I  wandered  down  to  the  beach  alone. 


The  loss  of  Louisbourg,  as  even  I  could  see,  might 
mean  the  loss  of  Canada,  and,  in  the  priest's  eyes  at  least, 
its  loss  was  due  not  so  much  to  the  weakness  of  the  gar- 
rison as  to  the  failure  of  the  relief,  and  this  relief  could 
have  come  only  by  the  man  who  had  withstood  his  com- 
mands, holding  out  a  shameful  condition  as  the  price 
of  his  obedience.  Whether  le  pere  Jean  was  right  or 
wrong  I  could  not  judge,  but  I  surely  knew  he  could  but 
lay  the  source  of  this  dishonour  to  the  wilful  act  of  the 
woman  he  had  rescued  and  befriended  in  her  hour  of 

'hi,  f'jws  of  the  gallant  defence  of  Carillon  went  far 
<■.■>  .  .  'set  .he  disaster  of  Louisbourg,  but  not  to  allay  our 
sn^'p  A/,  and  September  was  a  trying  month  for  us  all; 
buo  ',>;., oriel  visited  us  twice,  and  was  unshaken  in  his 
confidence. 

Time  enough  to  cry  out  when  we  are  beaten,  ma- 

174 


(fi 


ON    THE    ISLE    AUX    COUDRES 

dame.  We  have  held  them  back  at  Carillon,  and  will  do 
so  again,  if  need  be  ;  they  have  been  beaten  in  the  Upper 
Country  before  this,  and  they  will  be  clever  indeed  if 
they  can  come  np  the  river." 

**They  did  so  once  before,  Gabriel." 

*'  *  Une  fois  n'est  pas  coutume,'  madame  ;  pilots  can- 
not be  picked  up  like  pease." 

I  expected  word  from  le  p^re  Jean  every  day,  and 
awaited  it  with  conflicting  feelings.  I  was  most  anxious 
to  know  the  truth  about  Hugh,  and  yet  to  meet  him  was 
past  my  desire,  if  he  were  really  married.  Should  that 
prove  the  case,  then  I  would  use  my  utmost  effort  to  re- 
turn to  France  without  his  knowing  I  had  ever  been  in 
the  country.  Should  he  discover  it,  then  I  must  bear 
the  humiliation  as  best  I  might ;  but  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  go  away,  and  perhaps  wreck  my  future  as  well 
as  his,  through  a  misunderstanding.  I  felt  I  had  gone 
too  far,  had  suffered  too  much,  to  throw  it  all  away  when 
the  truth  was  within  my  reach. 

In  the  beginning  of  October  Gabriel  came  with  the  ex- 
pected letter  from  le  pere  Jean.  Mme.  de  Sareunes  and 
Angelique  had  gone  on  to  Quebec  to  spend  the  winter 
there,  and  I  was  expected  to  join  them  whenever  it  might 
be  convenient.  I  took  affectionate  farewells  of  my  good 
friend,  Mme.  Dufour,  and  the  infant  population  of  the 
parish,  and  set  forth  with  Gabriel.  We  made  a  grand 
run  of  it,  and  were  in  full  view  of  the  town  before  the 
sun  had  quite  set.  I  had  seen  no  place,  except  perhaps 
Edinburgh,  with  which  I  could  compare  it,  and  Quebec 
gained  in  the  comparison.  Gabriel  saw  my  admiration, 
and  was  delighted. 

"  Look  at  it  well,  madame ;  it  is  the  gate  of  the  finest 
country  le  bon  Dieu  ever  created,  and  we  hold  the  key  ! 
No  man  need  have  a  faint  heart  when  he  can  look  on 
Quebec.  See  the  little  fort  there  on  the  top  of  the  Cape  I 
It  was  made  to  signal  a  King's  ships  only.     See  the 

175 


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\\ 


.x 


\  \ 


i' 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

Chateau  where  it  stands!  It  looks  like  the  Governor 
himself.  tSee  the  steeples  of  the  Cathedral,  of  the 
Jesuits,  of  the  RecoUets  !  See  the  convents  and  the 
hospitals  !  It  is  like  the  Holy  City  of  God  !  And  then 
talk,  if  one  can,  of  it  falling  into  the  hands  of  '  les  god- 
dams '  and  Mes  Bostonnais.'  Bah  !  It  is  impossible  !  If 
not,  what  is  the  use  of  going  to  church  on  Sunday  ?" 

Truly  he  had  every  excuse  for  his  pride ;  and  when  I 
looked  on  the  majestic  river,  barred  by  the  mighty  cliff 
with  its  glittering  crown  of  roofs  and  spires  overlooking 
the  beautiful  sweep  of  the  St.  Charles,  I  felt  that  his 
outburst  was  more  of  a  declaration  than  a  boast. 

I  disembarked  with  a  light  heart,  and,  guided  by  Ga- 
briel, climbed  the  steep  ascent  to  the  Haute  Ville,  at  the 
head  of  which  stood  the  Sarennes  house,  there  to  receive 
a  welcome  from  Mme.  do  Sarennes  and  Angelique,  for 
which  none  but  a  daughter  and  a  sister  might  look. 

176 


tl! 


iS! 


m 

V 

( 

Hi 


CHAPTER  XX 


AT    QUEBEC 


When  onr  first  greetings  were  over,  I  asked  eagerly 
for  Lucy. 

**  She  is  not  with  us  at  the  moment,  my  dear,"  said 
Mme.  de  Sareunes  ^  "  but  we  look  for  news  of  her  soon 
now." 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  I  asked,  dreading  to  discover  the 
hand  of  M.  de  Sarennes  in  the  matter. 

"  When  you  left  with  le  p6re  Jean,  she  was  much  dis- 
tressed, for  she  had  not  the  same  reliance  on  his  assur- 
ance of  your  safety  as  we,  and  at  first  insisted  that  you 
would  never  have  willingly  gone  without  her,  but  after  a 
while  she  seemed  to  be  content.  I  did  not  know,  until 
Angelique  told  me  later,  that  she  was  possessed  with  the 
idea  of  her  son  being  in  Quebec,  or  I  might  have  per- 
suaded her  of  its  folly.  But  I  knew  nothing  of  it,  and 
thought  she  was  quite  content  to  await  your  return,  when 
we  were  astonished  by  her  disappearance.  She  left  a 
note  behind,  which,  however,  did  not  tell  us  anything 
beyond  the  word  Quebec,  as  it  was,  of  course,  in  English. 
Angelique,  fetch  the  note  ;  it  is  in  my  led  box.  We  had 
search  made  for  her  as  soon  as  possible,  and  heard  of  her 
along  the  road  as  far  as  Beaumont,  but  there  all  trace  was 
lost.  Here  is  the  note,  my  dear,"  she  said,  as  Angelique 
entered. 

The  poor  little  letter  was  not  addressed,  and  was  writ- 
ten in  a  trembling  hand. 

H  177 


I 


THE    SPAN   0'    LIFE 

"I  am  going  to  Quebec  to  find  my  son"  [I  read].  " M.  de  Sa- 
rennes  tells  me  he  is  there,  and  I  need  not  stay  from  him  now  my 
mistress  is  gone.  I  am  thankful  to  every  one  who  was  kind  to 
me,  and  I  will  pray  for  each  one  every  night.  Lucy." 


r 


•?  1 


''It  is  as  I  thought,"  said  Mme.  de  Sarennes.  "Poor 
soul,  I  am  more  distressed  at  the  thought  of  her  unrest 
than  for  her  safety,  for  our  people  are  very  good,  partic- 
ularly to  any  one  they  see  is  not  of  strong  mind.  She 
had  some  money,  Angelique  tells  me.  I  have  sent  her 
description  to  the  diiferent  convents,  where  they  are  like- 
ly to  know  of  any  one  in  want ;  and  in  a  small  place  like 
this  it  will  not  be  long  before  we  hear  of  her." 

**  But  I  am  greatly  distressed,  madame,  that  you  should 
have  had  this  anxiety,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  caused." 

"  If  we  had  not  cared  for  her,  we  should  have  had  no 
anxiety  ;  and  as  for  yourself,  my  dear,  you  must  not  think 
we  were  troubled  when  le  pere  Jean  told  us  you  were  un- 
der his  direction  ;  and  now  that  you  have  come  back  to 
us  in  safety,  your  long  absence  is  atoned  for.  I  did  not 
know  I  could  have  missed  any  one  so  much  who  was  out- 
side of  my  own  family." 

This  unexpected  tenderness  from  one  I  had  respected 
rather  than  loved,  for  I  had  stood  somewhat  in  awe  of 
the  usually  unresponsive  old  lady,  touched  me  more  than 
I  can  tell,  and  gave  me  a  sense  of  home  and  protection 
which  I  had  long  missed,  and  it  was  a  pain  to  think  I 
was  forced  to  hide  the  true  reason  of  my  flight  from  her 
loyal  heart. 

The  Sarennes  house  made  one  of  a  tower-like  group  of 
dwellings  forming  a  little  island,  as  it  were,  at  the  head 
of  the  Cote  de  la  Montagne,  round  which  swept  the 
streets  to  zigzag  down  the  long,  steep  hill,  and  join,  af- 
ter many  turnings,  at  its  foot.  Fronting  it  stood  the 
bishop's  palace,  a  modest  enough  edifice,  and  from  my 

178 


II'. 


m  I 


AT    QUEBEC 

window  at  the  back  I  could  look  on  the  honse  of  Phili- 
bert,  popularly  known  as  *'  Le  Chien  d'Or,"  from  the 
curious  carving  over  the  door,  hinting  at  some  tragedy 
of  patient  waiting  and  revenge. 

Immediately  above  was  a  bright  little  cul-de-sac,  dig- 
nified by  the  name  of  la  rue  du  Parloir — the  theatre  of 
many  of  the  social  doings  of  Quebec  ;  behind  this,  on 
the  one  side,  rose  the  simple  apse  of  the  Cathedral,  and 
on  the  other  the  white  walls  and  glistening  roofs  of  the 
Seminary. 


It  was  not  long  before  I  learned  the  gossip  of  the  town 
from  Angelique,  who  had  already  made  her  first  triumphs 
in  society,  in  which  she  rejoiced  so  frankly  that  I  felt 
like  a  girl  again  as  she  chattered  of  her  pleasures. 

"  It  might  not  seem  much  to  you.  Marguerite,  after 
Paris,  but  to  me  it  is  splendid,  and  we  have  all  sorts  of 
men  here." 

"  No  doubt,  cherie.    And  you  find  them  all  charming  ?" 

"  Well,  they  all  try  to  please  me,  even  the  bad  ones." 

"  You  have  bad  ones  too,  ma  raie  ?" 

"  Indeed  we  have,  Marguerite,  as  bad  as  yon  ever  saw 
in  Paris.     You  needn't  laugh." 

*'  Heaven  forbid !  I  never  found  them  amusing  in 
Paris,  or  elsewhere." 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  !  There  is  M.  Bigot,  the  Intendant. 
He  is  wicked,  if  you  like  !  He  is  ugly  too  ;  but  his  man- 
ner ! — it  is  simply  enchanting.  He  dresses  to  perfection  ; 
and  when  he  plays  with  a  lady,  he  loses  to  her  like  a 
nobleman.  I  don't  care  what  they  say  about  him,  c'est 
un  galant  homme  !  and  the  place  would  be  very  dull 
without  him." 

"  But  he  is  not  the  only  man,  Angelique  ?" 

"  Dear  no  !  And  he  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  I  am  sure,  if 
it  were  not  for  that  odious  Mme.  Pean  ;  I  am  sure  she  is 
dreadful,  and  so  pretty  too  !    But  there  are  other  men ; 

179 


< 


"f. 


I, 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


there  is  M.  de  Bongainville,  who  is  young,  and  has  le  bel 
air,  but  is  too  serious.  M.  Poularicz,  tall  and  gallant- 
looking — he  is  colonel  of  the  Royal  llouissillon  ;  there  is 
Major  Joann6s — he  remembers  you  on  the  yacht — he  is 
the  little  officer  who  provided  the  wine  for  the  toasts ; 
then  there  is  M.  de  Roquemaure  and  M.  de  la  Rochebeau- 
court,  and,  best  of  all,  there  is  M.  de  Maxwell  —  M.  le 
Chevalier  de  Maxwell  de  Kirkconnel — he  is  a  countryman 
of  your  own,  Marguerite;"  and  she  paused  and  looked 
at  me  as  if  awaiting  an  answer. 

"  Yes,  and  what  of  him  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  good  shew 
of  composure. 

"  Simply  that  he  is  the  only  man  I  have  ever  seen  that 
I  could  fall  in  love  with.  That  shocks  you,  I  suppose  ? 
Well,  don't  be  afraid.  I  am  not  nearly  so  bold  as  I  pre- 
tend, and  I  don't  mean  a  word  of  it.  I  am  simply  tell- 
ing you  how  much  I  like  him ;  besides,  he  is  old  enough 
to  be  my  grandfather.     Do  you  know  why  I  like  him  ?" 

"No,  ch^rie.     Why?" 

"  Because  when  Mme.  de  Lanaudi5re,  Mme.  de  Beau- 
bassin,  and  others,  were  being  good  to  me  by  patting  me 
on  the  head  and  bidding  me  behave  like  a  nice  little  girl, 
as  it  were,  M.  de  Maxwell  treated  me  as  if  I  were  the 
greatest  lady  in  the  room.  He  would  leave  the  best 
dressed  among  them  all  to  cross  the  floor  openly  and 
speak  with  me,  and  because  he  did  so  others  followed, 
and  I  am  in  request.  He  is  only  *  Chevalier,'  you  know  ; 
but  he  could  not  have  more  weight  here  were  he  Duke 
or  Prince." 

"  And  he  is  proud  of  the  distinction,  I  suppose  ?" 

*'  Perhaps  so,  but  he  does  not  shew  it ;  but  all  this  is 
nothing  to  his  singing." 

**Tellmeof  that." 

"Only  the  other  night,  at  Mme.  de  Lanaudi^re's,  he 
sang  so  that  even  the  players  stopped  in  their  game  to 
listen.     I  know  nothing  of  music,  but  I  could  have  cried 

180 


AT    QUEBEC 

before  he  ended  ;  and  when  he  had  sung  asjain.  as  every 
one  wished,  Mine,  de  Liinaiuli6re  cried,  before  us  all: 
'  Chevalier,  you  must  not  sing  again  or  wn  cannot  call 
our  hearts  our  own  !'  And  every  one  huiohed  and  clapped 
their  hands.     Tiiat  is  what  I  call  a  triumph  I" 

**  Yes,  Angelique,  I  know.  One  of  the  dearest  things 
I  can  remember  is  a  loved  voice  singing." 

Only  those  who  have  known  the  hunger  of  the  heart 
can  realise  the  sweet  comfort  these  innocent  words 
brought  to  me.  They  pictured  the  Hugh  I  had  carried 
all  these  years  in  my  heart.  How  readily  I  could  con- 
ceive the  gentle  consideration  and  the  charm  which  won 
the  gratitude  of  this  simple  girl  as  they  had  won  my 
own  ! 


■^ 


' 


if 


As  we  settled  down  to  our  regular  life,  Ang61ique's 
one  distress  was  that  I  v/ould  not  go  with  her  into  the 
society  she  so  dearly  loved.  She  could  not  understand 
my  refusal,  and  even  her  mother  thought  it  woHld  be  well 
that  I  should  shew  myself,  if  merely  to  establish  my  posi- 
tion and  put  an  end  to  the  annoying  questionings  which 
began  to  circulate  concerning  my  station  and  intentions. 
But  on  this  point  I  was  firm,  and  the  only  concession 
I  would  make  was  to  send  a  note  to  M.  de  Montcalm, 
begging  he  would  pay  me  the  honour  of  a  visit. 

He  came  on  the  morrow,  and  his  respect  and  courtesy 
towards  me  went  far  to  establish  my  position  in  the  eyes 
of  Mine,  de  Sarennes,  for  he  treated  me  with  all  the  con- 
sideration one  would  shew  towards  an  equal. 

He  informed  me  that  his  aide,  M.  de  Bougainville, 
would  sail  for  France  almost  immediately — we  were  then 
at  the  beginning  of  November — and  if  I  would  brave  the 
discomforts  of  so  late  a  passage,  he  would  place  me  un- 
der.his  care;  but  Mme.  de  Sarennes  protested  so  firmly 
against  my  undertaking  such  a  voyage  that  I  was  spared 
a  decision. 

181 


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'( 

i 

H 

'■{j'l 

•    ) 

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bII 

i     ! 

•  )• 


•1  i  I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

In  truth  I  did  not  know  what  to  do.  My  pride  urged 
me  to  go  ;  but  my  love,  in  spite  of  what  had  passed,  drew 
mc  closer  and  closer  to  Quebec.  I  could  not  go  without 
learning  the  trutli,  and  yet  I  could  not  brii\g  myself  to 
meet  Hugh  at  the  moment,  which  I  should  have  to  do 
if  T  accepted  M.  de  Montcalm's  offer ;  so  I  allowed  mat- 
ters to  shape  themselves  without  my  interference. 

"Peace  may  be  proclaimed  this  winter,  and  if  so, 
Mrae.  de  St.  Just  can  go  without  danger  in  the  spring. 
Besides,  she  cannot  go  until  she  knows  of  the  safety  of 
one  she  is  interested  in,"  said  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  de- 
cidedly ;  and  her  reminder  of  my  duty  towards  Lucy 
ended  the  discussion. 

"  Then,  madame,"  said  M.  de  Montcalm,  turning  to 
me,  ''  if  you  are  to  stay  with  us  you  must  renounce  your 
retirement,  and  give  us  your  support  in  our  little  society. 
We  are  too  few  to  spare  any  possible  addition  to  it,  the 
more  so  that  if  peace  be  not  proclaimed  before  spring 
everything  is  likely  to  come  to  an  end,  so  far  as  we 
are  concerned." 

'*Mon  Dieu,  Marquis!  Do  not  speak  so  lightly  of 
disaster,"  interrupted  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  severely. 

"  Ma  foi,  madame  !  What  is  the  use  of  shutting  our 
eyes  to  the  inevitable  ?  We  are  hemmed  in  right  and 
left,  and  the  next  move  will  be  directed  on  us  here. 
it  needs  liO  prophet  to  foretell  that." 

''But  is  there  not  Carillon  ?" 

*'  There  is  also  the  river." 

"  They  can  never  come  up  the  river  !  See  what  befell 
them  before !  1  remember  well  how  their  fleet  was  de- 
stroyed under  their  Admiral  Walker." 

"  Nothing  happens  but  the  impossible,  madame  ;  and 
we  are  no  longer  in  an  age  that  hopes  for  miracles." 

"Monsieur,  it  pains  me  to  hear  you  speak  thus. 
God  is  not  less  powerful  now  than  Ho  was  fifty  years 
ago." 

}8» 


¥ 


AT    QUEBEC 

**  I  sincerely  trast  not,  madame ;  but  his  Majesty  will 
hardly  acquit  me  if  I  rely  on  a  chance  tempest  or  a  dilR- 
cult  channel.     It  is  only  the  question  of  a  pilot." 

"And  think  you,  monsieur,  a  Canadian  would  ever 
consent  to  pilot  an  enemy  up  our  river  ?" 

**  Madame,  I  cannot  doubt  that  even  a.  Canadian  will 
act  as  other  men,  if  he  have  a  pistol  at  the  back  of  his 
head.  No,  no,  madame;  believe  me,  the  river  is  our 
danger,  and  I  would  that  M.  de  Vaudreuil  might  see  it 
as  I  do." 

"M.  de  Vaudreuil  is  a  God-fearing  man,  monsieur." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  him,  niadame  ;  but,  unfortu- 
nately, I  am  responsible  for  military  matters,"  he  an- 
swered, with  a  bitterness  which  made  me  most  uncom- 
fortable. 

He  saw  my  distress  and  added,  quickly  :  "  But  such 
affairs  should  not  be  discussed  before  ladies ;  I  forget 
myself.  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  I  have  every  respect  for 
your  opinion,  and  it  is  only  my  anxiety  for  our  com- 
mon cause  which  urges  me  to  exaggerate  vhat  may 
after  all  be  merely  possible  dangers." 

**Now,  Mme.  de  St.  Just,  to  return  to  our  society. 
We  are  dull  now,  and  shall  be  until  the  last  ships  leave  ; 
but  we  will  have  balls  and  routs  later  on,  and  perhaps 
may  even  offer  you  a  novelty  in  the  shape  of  a  winter 
pique-nique,  a  fete  champetre  in  four  feet  of  snow." 

"  That,  I  am  sure,  must  be  delightful,"  I  answered, 
pleased  that  the  conversation  had  taken  a  different  turn  : 
"but  I  am  afraid  I  have  little  interest  in  amusement 
as  yet." 

''  We  have  cards,  madame,  if  you  are  ever  tempted  to 
woo  the  fickle  goddess." 

"M.  de  Mo!itculm,"  asked  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  in  her 
severest  manner,  "  do  you  intend  to  put  an  end  to  scan- 
dalous play  this  winter  ?" 

**Eh,  mon  Dieu,  madame!   I  must  do  something,  I 

1S3 


^ 


I 


ff  : 


Si 

'  l^B 

H 

\  I 


'\   ( 


I  1 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

suppose.  It  is  indeed  a  scandal  that  officers  should  ruin 
themselves,  and  I  assure  you  I  have  had  many  a  bad 
quarter  of  an  hour  over  it.  It  cannot  be  forbidden  alto- 
gether, for  they  must  amuse  themselves  in  some  manner." 

**They  exist  without  it  in  Montreal." 

**  Possibly  ;  but  M.  de  Vaudreuil  is  there.  We  cannot 
hope  to  aspire  to  all  his  virtues."  And  to  my  dismay  I 
saw  we  were  once  more  nearing  dangerous  ground. 

To  turn  the  conversation  again,  I  asked  for  news  of  the 
English  at  Louisbourg. 

'*  Some  are  still  there,  some  in  garrison  at  Beausejour, 
some  in  New  York  and  Boston,  and  others  returned  to 
England  ;  but  we  will  doubtless  have  an  opportunity  of 
inspecting  most  of  them  here  next  spring,  unless,  as 
Mme.  de  Sarennes  suggests,  peace  be  leclared  in  the 
meantime." 

This  was  as  bad  as  ever,  but  led  to  nothing  more  than 
a  momentary  stiffness,  which  Angelique's  entrance  dissi- 
pated, and  made  a  merry  ending  to  a  visit  not  without 
its  difficulties. 

Before  the  Marquis  left,  he  said  to  me :  *'  You  may  not 
have  heard,  madamo,  but  your  brother,  who  is  an  officer 
in  Eraser's,  a  Ilighhind  regiment,  was  captured  in  the 
first  engagement,  and  was  a  prisoner  in  Louisbourg  up 
to  the  capitulation.  If  you  wish,  I  can  obtain  more  def- 
inite news  of  him  through  M.  de  Maxwell,  one  of  our 
officers  who  was  in  garrison  there  at  the  time." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  unlooked-for,  and  for  a 
moment  I  was  overwhelmed  at  the  thought  of  this  inno- 
cent betrayal  of  my  presence  to  Hugh.  I  could  hardly 
find  courage  to  reply,  and  it  was  fortunate  that  my  an- 
swer served  as  a  cover  to  my  confusion. 

**  M.  de  Montcalm,  I  have  never  heard  from  or  written 
to  my  brother  since  he  accepted  his  English  commission," 
I  said,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"Pardon,  madame  ;  I  had  forgotten  when  I  spoke." 

184 


AT    QUEBEC 

"  Just  as  we  forget^,  monsieur,  that  our  Marguerite  is 
not  one  of  us  by  birth  as  she  is  in  heart,"  cried  Angelique, 
enthusiastically,  slipping  her  arm  about  me. 

This  shewed  me  more  than  any  other  happening  how 
precarious  my  position  was,  for  though  neithjr  Angelique, 
nor  her  mother,  nor  M.  de  Montcalm,  would  now  men- 
tion my  identity,  any  of  them  might  already  have  spoken 
of  my  brother.  M.  de  Sarennes  knew  my  secret,  and 
Hugh  might  discover  it  at  any  moment. 

When  the  Marquis  left,  Mme.  de  Sarennes  no  longer 
made  an  effort  to  contain  her  indignation. 

**They  are  all  alike  !''  she  burst  forth.  "They  make 
not  the  slightest  effort  to  understand  us,  nor  to  do  aught 
but  amuse  themselve-s.  You  are  quite  right,  Marguerite, 
to  refuse  to  have  any  part  in  their  gaieties  !  I  shall  nev- 
er urge  you  again.  To  talk  of  balls  and  routs  and  gam- 
ing as  necessities,  when  the  people  are  starving  within 
our  very  walls  I 

"What  wonder  is  it  our  husbands  and  brothers  and 
sons  say  these  faineants  care  naught  what  becomes  of  the 
country  or  the  people,  so  long  as  they  gain  some  little 
distinction  which  may  entitle  them  to  an  early  return 
and  an  empty  decoration  !  They  have  neither  pity,  nor 
faith,  nor  the  slightest  interest  in  the  cause  for  which 
they  are  fighting. 

"If  M.  de  Vaudreuil,  whom  they  pretend  to  despise, 
were  permitted  to  take  tlie  field  himself,  with  a  few  thou- 
sand good  Canadians  behind  him.  we  would  hear  a  dif- 
ferent story.  Think  you  if  my  son  had  been  permitted 
to  reach  Louisbourg  it  would  have  fallen  ?  No,  a  thou- 
sand times  no  !  And  it  is  the  same  elsewhere.  Who  re- 
pulsed the  Englisli  charge  at  Carillon  ?  The  Canadians. 
Who  brings  every  important  piece  of  news  of  the  enemy  ? 
Some  despised  Canadian.  Wlio  know  how  to  fight  and 
how  to  handle  themselves  in  the  woods  ?  Canadians, 
and  only  Canadians  !    And  these  are  the  men  they  af- 

185 


Hi 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


4 


»    I 


feet  to  despise  !  And  it  is  Canadian  wives  and  sisters 
and  daughters — more  shame  to  tl  m  ! — who  lay  them- 
selves out  to  amuse  and  to  be  talked  about  by  these 
same  disdainful  gentry  ! 

*'  Go  to  your  room,  mademoiselle!"  she  ended,  turning 
on  Angelique.  ''I  will  hear  nothing  of  your  doings 
among  a  clique  I  despise  from  top  to  bottom  ;"  and  the 
indignant  old  lady  stopped,  worn  out  for  very  lack  of 
breath,  while  Angelique  made  a  little  laughing  grimace  at 
me  and  fled. 

The  indictment  was  severe,  but  there  was  much  truth 
in  it  at  the  same  time.  The  condition  of  the  people  was 
pitiable  in  the  extreme.  Provisions  were  at  ruinous 
prices,  the  wretched  paper  money  was  almost  worthless, 
and  even  the  officers  were  beggared  by  their  necessary  ex- 
penses. At  the  opening  of  the  New  Year  the  Intendance 
WiiSi  invaded  by  a  crowd  of  desperate  women  clamouring 
for  relief,  and  the  address  of  M.  Bigot  in  ridding  him- 
self of  his  unwelcome  visitors  was  laughed  at  as  a  joke. 
Worse  than  this,  no  attempt  was  made  to  lessen  or  even 
hide  the  gaieties  that  went  on,  play  was  as  high  and  as 
ruinous  as  ever,  and  the  town  was  all  agog  over  the  re- 
port of  a.  ball  to  be  given  with  i\r!  isual  splendour  by  the 
Intendant  on  Twelfth-Night.  It  was  true  that  he  made 
a  diiUy  distribution  of  food  at  his  doors,  that  he  spake 
pleasant  and  reassuring  words  to  the  suffering  people, 
that  he  even  permitted  the  respectably  dressed  among 
them  to  enter  and  view  his  guests  from  the  gallery  of  his 
ball-room,  but  this  did  but  serve  to  intensify  the  bitterness 
and  indignation  of  those  who  stood  apart  from  him  and 
his  follov/ing.  It  would  be  unjust  to  brand  M.  de  Mont- 
calm, and  perhaps  others,  as  willing  participants  in  these 
excesses  ;  on  account  of  their  position,  their  presence  at 
all  formal  entertainments  was  a  necessity,  and  certainly 
the  town  offered  no  distraction  of  any  other  nature  what- 
soever. 

186 


AT    QUEBEC 

Onr  irquiries  had  so  far  failed  in  discovering  any  trace 
of  Lucy's  whereabouts,  and  yet  I  felt  certain  slie  was  in 
or  about  Quebec,  and  as  she  liad  acquired  enough  French 
to  make  her  wants  known,  and  was  provided  with  money 
sufficient  to  meet  them,  we  held  it  likely  she  was  in  some 
family,  but  probably  seldom  stirred  abroad  for  fear  she 
might  be  recognised  and  prevented  from  keeping  her 
patient  watch. 


At  length  the  great  event  of  the  winter  came  on — the 
ball  at  the  Intenclance  on  Twelfth-Night.  Angelique  was 
all  impatience  for  the  evening,  and,  when  dressed,  her  ex- 
citement added  to  the  charm  of  her  girlish  beauty. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come.  Marguerite  !"  she  exclaimed, 
longingly, 

*'  I  would  like  to,  cherie,  if  only  to  see  yon." 

**  And  to  see  M.  de  Maxwell  too.  I  should  like  you  to 
see  him.  I  assure  you  one  does  not  see  such  a  man  ev- 
ery day.  He  has  such  brown  eyes ;  they  do  not  sparkle, 
but  they  are  deep.  He  has  lovely  hands,  as  well  cared 
for  as  a  woman's,  but  strong  and  masterful,  I  am  sure. 
lie  has  a  fine  foot  and  a  well-turned  leg.  That  is  nearly 
all  —  except  his  smile  ;  he  smiles,  and  you  think  he  is 
smiling  for  you  alone — and  when  he  speaks,  you  are  sure 
of  it  I  Such  a  low,  sweet  voice  !  You  are  always  certain 
he  is  never  thinking  of  {,ny  one  else  when  you  are  listen- 
ing to  it.  And  he  dresses — plainly,  perhaps — but  it  is 
perfection  for  him.  But  there — I  must  run  ;  Denis  luis 
been  at  the  door  for  an  hour,"  and,  kissing  me  affection- 
ately, she  hurried  o.f . 

It  was  well  for  me  she  did  so,  for  I  could  not  have  lis- 
tened to  her  light-hearted  babble  longer  without  betray- 
ina:  mvself.  When  I  closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  had 
spent  half  an  hour  with  l\Ime.  de  Sarennes,  I  regained 
my  room  overwhelmed  by  the  storm  of  emotions  raised 
within  me.     ''Oh,  why  cannot  I  see  him,  I,  of  all  the 

187 


I 


n 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


f  * 


women  in  the  world  ?"  I  cried,  aloud,  and  the  words 
set  free  my  tears  to  relieve  me.  As  I  regained  control  of 
myself  I  caught  sight  of  Angeliqne's  pretty  fan,  on  my  ta- 
ble, forgoft^L  her  hurry;  and  the  moment  I  saw  it  a 
plan  flashed  before  me,  and  I  determined  to  see  with  my 
own  eyes  what  I  had  so  long  pictured  in  my  heart. 

Bathing  my  face  until  every  trace  of  my  outburst  was 
removed,  I  d-'e<='^e''l  ^^yself,  and  taking  a  large  blue  cloak 
with  a  hooc!.,  ..  aight  be  worn  by  either  a  lady  or 
her  servant,  I  piu  -j  p  Ihe  fan  and  stole  quietly  out 
into  the  street. 

It  was  d  bean.ifnl  sot-  t^-^:''.^.  without  a  moon,  and  I 
went  down  bv  the  m,  -y. .  ■>  vi'?  the  Palace  Hill  with- 
out  interruption,  and,  passi?i^^  ui-yond  the  walls,  went 
straight  to  the  Intendance,  which  was  all  aglow  with 
light,  and  surrounded  by  a  gaping  crowd. 

Quickly  passing  through  the  people,  and  saying  to  the 
grenadier  on  guard  at  the  gate,  *'For  Mademoiselle  de 
Sarennes /'  I  was  admitted  to  the  court-yard,  and  passed 
the  lackeys  at  the  entrance  with  the  same  password. 

Singling  out  one  who  looked  civil,  I  drew  him  aside. 

**  I  bring  this  fan  for  Mademoiselle  de  Sarennes,  but  I 
wish,  now  that  I  am  here,  to  have  a  look  at  the  ball.  Is 
there  any  place  where  I  can  go  besides  the  gallery  ?" 

** Perfectly,  mademoiselle;  I  can  shew  you  just  the 
place.  You  were  lucky  in  coming  to  me.  Do  you 
know  me  ?" 

"  No,"  I  answered,  willing  to  flatter  him ;  "  but  you 
look  as  if  you  would  know  what  I  want."* 

**  Aha  !"  he  exclaimed,  pluming  himself.  *'  You  were 
right,  perfectly  right.  You  have  only  to  follow  me," 
and  he  led  the  way  down  the  corridor,  and,  unlocking 
a  door,  he  motioned  me  to  enter.  I  drew  back  as  a  rush 
of  music  and  voices  and  the  warm  air  of  the  ball-room 
swept  out. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  whispered,  ''this  is  curtained 

188 


AT    QUEBEC 

off.  You  can  stay  here  for  an  honr  if  you  like,  no  one 
will  come  through  before  then ;  only,  when  you  leave,  be 
sure  and  turn  the  key  again,  and  bring  it  to  me." 

I  thanked  him,  and  he  left,  closing  the  door  noise- 
lessly behind  him  ;  and  then  approaching  the  curtains, 
I  carefully  parted  them,  and  looked  out  on  the  ball-room. 

189 


I 


if 


,  H 


(■! 


•1 

i  ' 

1 

CHAPTER  XXI 


I   AWAKE   FROM   MY    DREAM 


It  was  a  scene  that  would  have  done  credit  to  a  much 
larger  centre  than  Quebec.  It  is  true  the  walls  were  bare 
of  any  fitting  decoration,  the  Avindows  too  small  to  break 
them  with  any  effect,  the  chandeliers  mean  in  size,  and 
the  sconces  but  makeshifts  ;  still,  the  room  was  imposing 
in  its  proportions  and  the  company  brilliant. 

I  recognised  the  Intendant  without  ditliculty.  He  was 
a  small  man,  delicately  formed,  and  wore  his  dark  red 
hair  Avith  but  little  powder.  He  Avas  most  handsomely 
dressed,  his  carriage  was  dignified  and  easy,  and  the 
charm  of  which  Angelique  had  spoken  was  at  once  ap- 
parent ;  I  quite  understood  how  one  might  forget  the 
plain,  sickly  face,  marked  by  the  traces  of  excess,  for  it 
was  frank  and  open,  and  one  could  not  but  acknowledge 
its  strength. 

I  saw,  too,  M.  Poulariez,  looking  very  handsome  in  his 
new  white  uniform  of  the  Royal  Rouissillon  ;  the  Major 
Joannes,  and  others  whom  Angelique  had  described,  or 
we  had  seen  from  our  Avindows  on  their  way  to  one  or 
other  of  the  three  divinities  of  the  rue  du  Parloir.  They 
were  all  there,  vying  Avith  each  other,  Mme.  de  Lanau- 
diere,  Mme.  de  Beaubassin,  and  Mme.  Pean,  and  though 
their  dresses  Avere  doubtless  far  behind  the  mode,  they 
were  all  three  noticeable  Avomen,  and  dressed  Avith  dis- 
cretion. 

At  the  opposite  end  were  the  musicians,  whose  efforts 
were  surprisingly  good  ;  and  in  a  long  gallery  down  one 

190 


'^V.ti 


■n 


' '    *i 


i> 


A: 


Mi 


(  i 


M 


ni 


I    AWAKE    FROM    MY    DREAM 

side  stood  the  onlookers,  crowding  it  to  its  utmost  ca- 
pacity. Angel ique  sate  the  centre  of  an  animated  group 
at  no  great  distance  from  where  I  was  hidden,  and  her 
evident  delight  in  the  merry  trifling  that  went  on  about 
her  made  a  charming  picture;  but  he  whom  I  sought  was 
not  one  of  the  little  court  before  her,  and  I  scanned  the 
room  eagerly.  For  the  first  time  I  realised  that  he  might 
be  changed ;  that  I  had  changed  much  myself — for  ten 
years  is  a  long  time  out  of  one's  life — and  with  a  pang  I 
thought  of  Angelique's  girlish  freshness,  and  wished  I 
could  have  remained  eighteen  for  his  sake. 

At  last !  My  heart  leaped  within  me,  and  my  eyes 
swam  so  I  could  hardly  see,  for  there  was  Hugh,  the 
one  and  only  love  of  my  life !  "Oh,  Hugh  !  Hugh  !  my 
darling !"  I  murmured,  forgetful  of  all,  save  that  my 
drcamings  had  come  true,  and  my  eyes  had  been  granted 
their  desire. 

He  was  coming  slowly  down  the  room,  making  his  way 
gracefully  through  the  crowd,  bowing  and  occasionally 
speaking  to  other  guests  as  he  passed.  It  pained  mo 
to  see  how  thin  and  worn  his  face  had  grown ;  but,  if 
anything,  it  was  handsomer  than  ever,  though,  like  that 
of  most  of  the  officers,  it  was  too  brown  from  constant 
exposure.  How  could  Angelique  call  him  old  ?  For  his 
figure  was  as  light  and  graceful  as  I  ever  pictured  it, 
and  his  bearing  as  perfect  as  of  yore.  He  was  not  in 
uniform,  but  was  fittingly  dressed  in  a  puce -coloured 
coat,  relieved  with  narrow  silver  braid,  and  his  white 
satin  waistcoat  and  small-clothes  were  ornamented  in 
the  same  manner. 

He  came  directly  up  to  where  Angelique  sate,  and,  bow- 
ing low,  answered  her  lively  greeting  with  his  winning 
smile,  and  I  could  almost  catch  the  soft  tones  of  his  voice 
where  I  stood. 

Presently  she  rose,  and  dismissing  her  court  with  a 
laughing  bow,  they  moved  down  the  room  together,  and 

191 


m 


■       I  C' 


!       I 


M 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

as  they  did  so  my  love  followed  them,  sweeping  nil 
doubts  aside,  and  I  fell  to  defending  him  agaiiiKt  myself 
with  all  my  soul.  I  had  never  read  that  letter  aright. 
Should  I  not  have  remembered  that  such  a  man  could 
never  hurt  a  woman  ?  It  was  an  impossibility  for  him 
to  have  written  me  direct ;  and  had  he  not,  through  the 
very  hands  of  my  enemy,  sent  me  effective  warning  not 
to  intrust  myself  to  his  treacherous  guidance  ? — "  Keep 
the  lady  claiming  to  be  my  wife  at  such  a  distance  that 
I  may  never  set  eyes  on  her  again."  Could  anything  be 
plainer  or  better  conceived  ?  If  he  had  denied  being 
married,  his  letter  could  have  carried  no  message  for 
me,  and  would  have  placed  me  in  even  a  worse  position. 
It  was  through  my  own  pride  and  stupidity  that  I  had 
blundered  into  denying  the  marriage,  and  so  had  thrown 
myself  into  the  power  of  Sarennes. 

** Good-evening,  mademoiselle,"  whispered  a  voice  ;  and 
I  faced  about,  trembling  with  sudden  terror,  to  find  M. 
de  Sarennes  close  behind  me. 

** Good-evening,  mademoiselle,"  he  repeated,  smiling 
at  my  dismay.     *'  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me  ?" 

**I  did  not  know  you  were  in  Quebec,"  I  gasped,  try- 
ing hard  to  recover  my  self-control. 

"  Nor  did  any  one  else,  save  your  friend  M.  de  Mont- 
ealm;  I  arrived  an  hour  ago." 

**  How  did  you  know  I  was  here  ?"  I  asked,  to  gain 
time. 

*'I  guessed  whither  you  had  been  drawn  when  I  did 
not  find  you  at  the  house,  and  a  crown  to  the  right  lack- 
ey brought  me  here.  And  now,  with  your  permission, 
we  will  finish  that  conversation  your  friend  the  Jesuit 
interrupted  more  than  six  months  ago.  No,  you  dare 
not  cry  out ;  and  see,  1  have  the  key.  You  are  more 
alone  with  me  here  than  in  the  woods  at  Beaulieu," 
and  he  smiled  with  an  air  of  triumph  that  made  me 
desperate. 

192 


I    AWAKE    FROM    MY    DREAM 


"It  ia  useless  to  attempt  to  friji^liton  mo,  monsienr,"  I 
said,  boldly.     *'  I  am  among  friends." 

**  Indeed  ?  And  you  count  this  Chevalier  de  Maxwell 
among  them  ?" 

"I  do ;  for  now  I  understand  the  letter  he  sent." 

**  May  I  ask  in  what  way  ?" 

**  In  the  way  of  a  warning  not  to  trust  myself  to  a  man 
in  whom  he  had  no  confidence." 

*•' Ah  !    lie  has  explained  this  to  you  himself  ?" 

"No,  monsieur;  it  was  my  own  fault  T  did  not  see 
it  at  the  time." 

*'  Will  you  answer  me  one  question  truthfnl'v  ?  Have 
you  seen  M.  de  Maxwell  ?  You  will  not  answer  ?  Then 
your  silence  speaks  for  you.  Now  if  this  letter  had  been 
sent  with  the  meaning  you  pretend  to  put  upon  it,  do  you 
not  think  M.  de  Maxwell  would  have  f-  ught  you  out  in 
a  little  place  like  Quebec,  where  he  hua  no  other  occu- 
pation on  his  hands  than  to  win  enough  at  pharaon  to 
dress  himself  for  such  duties  as  these  ?"  he  said,  con- 
temptuously, as  he  waved  his  hand  towards  the  ball- 
room ;  and  with  the  sneering  words  my  defence  cf  a 
few  moments  before  was  in  the  dust.  "You  have  seen 
him  here,"  he  went  on,  when  he  marked  the  effect  of  his 
words.  "  Does  he  look  like  a  man  who  is  eating  his  heart 
out ;  or  like  one  who  is  free  of  a  burthen  and  trying  to 
enjoy  the  present  ?  ^Marguerite,  listen  to  me  !  For  your 
sake  I  have  braved  disgrace  and  perhaps  ruin  ;  for  your 
sake  I  would  go  through  it  again — " 

"  How  dare  you  speik  to  me  thus,  monsieur  !"  I  inter- 
rupted. "You  insult  me  beyond  endurance  when  you 
dare  to  say  I  ever  inspired  any  man  to  be  a  traitor  and  a 
coward." 

"By  God !"  he  muttered,  "have  a  care  lest  I  strike  you  ! 
There  are  some  things  I  cannot  stand,  even  from  you." 

"  Strike  !  I  would  rather  that  than  anything  else  from 
you." 

N  198 


III. 'I 


I 


'I 


I 


H 


I    ' 


!?' 


^ 


M 


m 


itl:        I 


i  1 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

He  glared  at  mo  fiercely  for  a  moment,  then  suddenly 
changing,  he  whispered,  entreatingly  :  "Marguerite,  do 
not  tempt  me  thus.  Do  not  bring  out  all  that  is  worst 
in  me.     You  know  I  love  you.*' 

"  I  will  not  have  your  love  ;  it  is  hateful  to  me." 

**  Why  should  my  love  be  hateful  ?  It  is  not  different 
from  that  of  other  men  !  It  is  as  strong — so  strong  that 
I  cannot  master  it.  It  is  as  tender,  if  you  will  but  answer 
it.  It  is  not  to  be  despised,  for  I  have  never  offered  it  to 
anoi.her ;  and  as  for  myself,  God  made  me  as  I  vAn." 

"I  will  not  have  your  love,  M.  de  Sarcunos.  I  will 
not  answer  it,  and  you  degrade  it  when  you  would  force 
it  on  me.     Go,  and  leave  me  in  peace  !" 

"  Marguerite,  you  know  nothing  of  my  love.  It  counts 
neither  insult  nor  rejection.  If  you  will  have  it  in  no 
other  way,  let  me  at  least  serve  you.  Let  me  take  up 
your  quarrel." 

'*  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  This  Maxwell.  Say  so,  and  I  will  hunt  him  down, 
and  never  leave  him  until  you  are  revenged." 

"  Are  you  mad,  monsieur  ?" 

"  No,  mademoiselle,  I  am  not  mad  !  But  are  you 
shameless  ?''' 

Trembling  with  indignation,  I  drew  my  cloak  about 
me,  and  sweeping  aside  the  curtain,  I  stepped  out  on  the 
floor  of  the  lighted  ball-room.  As  I  passed,  the  curtain 
caught  my  hood,  and,  to  my  annoyance,  it  fell  back 
from  my  head.  The  fuJl  glare  of  the  light  Avas  dazzling, 
and  I  was  bewildered  and  confused,  but  I  kept  my  eyes 
fixed  on  the  doorway  and  walked  swiftly  towards  it.  No 
one  spake  to  me,  or  uttered  any  exclamation  of  surprise. 
Two  gentlemen  stepped  apart  as  I  advanced  to  allow  me 
free  passage,  and  I  had  just  gained  the  entrance  when  I 
came  face  to  face  with  the  Marquis  de  Montcalm. 

Without  the  slightest  hesitation  he  bowed,  and  at  once 
stepped  back  into  the  corridor  with  me. 

194 


'  ^'S 


I    AWAKE    FROM    MY    DREAM 

"Ah,  madame,  you  should  have  been  on  the  floor,  and 
not  in  the  gallery.  This  ball  promises  to  be  amusing, 
and  you  are  running  away  before  it  has  fairly  begun." 
Seeing  I  was  too  embarrassed  to  reply,  he  continued  with 
perfect  savoir-faire  a  conversation  made  up  of  nothings, 
leading  me  down  the  long  corridor  away  from  curious 
eyes  as  he  did  so,  until  I  was  able  to  say,  with  de- 
cency : 

"Monsieur,  a  thousand  :'^anks  for  your  timely  atten- 
tion, but  I  must  return.     1  have  been  over-long  already." 

At  this  moment  M.  de  Sarennes  approached  from  the 
opposite  direction,  and  bowing,  as  if  he  had  met  me  for 
the  first  time  that  evening,  said,  after  saluting  the  Mar- 
quis, "  My  mother  grows  anxious  at  your  stay,  madame, 
and  has  deputed  me  to  be  your  escort." 

But  he  counted  too  far  on  my  cowardice,  and  had  no 
knowledge  of  how  far  a  woman  will  trust  an  honourable 
man.  The  Marquis,  never  doubting  his  good  faith,  had 
already  fallen  back  a  step,  when  I  turned  to  him  and 
said,  quietly, 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  accept  this 
gentleman's  offer,  but  I  shall  be  grateful  if  you  will  pro- 
vide me  with  a  different  escort." 

"There  is  not  the  slightest  difficulty  in  that.  M.  de 
Sarennes,  I  must  ask  you  to  remain  in  attendance  here, 
as  I  will  not  have  another  opportunity  of  seeing  you  be- 
fore you  start  for  Montreal  in  the  morning.  I  will  join 
you  within  presently  ;"  and  he  dismissed  the  angry  man 
with  a  formal  little  bow,  as  if  unconscious  of  anything 
unusual.  Beckoning  to  a  servant,  he  ordered  him  to  find 
M.  Joannes,  and  bid  him  meet  us  at  the  entrance. 

"I  am  heartilv  glad,  madatuo,"  he  said,  when  we  were 
alone,  "that  you  had  tiie  contidonco  to  appeal  to  me.  I 
shall  take  means  to  keep  ^l.  do  Sarennos  so  busily  cm- 
ployed  that  ho  will  have  no  further  opportunity  of  annoy- 
ing you." 

195 


I 


'I 


^|. 


^1  ■     11 


^ 


If 


* 


I      I 


I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

"  I  am  very  grateful,  monsieur,  and  would  never  have 
troubled  you  could  I  have  seen  any  other  way  of  escape." 

"'Tutto  b  bene  che  riesce  bene,'  which  is  the  extent 
of  my  Italian,  madame  ;  but  here  is  M.  Joann5s.  M. 
Joannas,"  he  continued,  to  the  merry  little  officer,  '*you 
have  already  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mme.  de  St. 
Just ;  you  now  can  render  her  a  service." 

**  I  am  sure  madame  has  confidence  in  me ;  she  saw 
how  I  had  provided  the  wine  when  it  was  essential  we 
should  wish  her  bon  voyage  off  Cap  Tourmonte." 

'*  Good  !  The  present  service  only  differs  in  kind. 
Will  you  order  my  cariole,  and  see  her  safely  to  Mme.  de 
Sarennes's  ?" 

"With  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world,  mon  general," 
and  he  bowed  and  hurried  off  to  order  the  sleigh.  In  a 
few  moments  we  whirled  out  of  the  court-yard  and  were 
driving  rapidly  up  Palace  Hill. 

M.  Joannds  chattered  incessantly,  which  was  the  very 
spur  I  most  needed.  His  open  friendliness  and  my  sure 
confidence  i.i  the  protection  of  M.  de  Montcalm  gave  me 
a  feeling  of  safety  against  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  M. 
de  Sarennes  that  was  perfectly  reassuring,  and  I  slej)t 
that  night  without  a  fear,  in  spite  of  what  I  had  gone 
through,  until  awakened  by  Angelique  as  the  day  was 
breaking. 

"  Oh,  Marguerite,  for  shame  !  To  think  of  your  being 
at  the  ball  and  never  letting  me  know  !"  she  cried,  to  my 
consternation;  but  added,  immediately:  "I'm  glad  you 
went,  though.     Didn't  we  all  look  fine  ?" 

"Very fine,  and  I  admired  you  most  of  all  the  women, 
cherie." 

"  Flatterer  I  You  made  a  fine  stir  yourself  when  you 
crossed  the  floor.  I  wish  I  had  seen  you,  and  I  would 
have  captured  you,  then  and  there  !  Did  you  not  know 
you  could  have  gone  round  by  the  passage  ?" 

196 


w 


hair ; 


I    AWAKE    FROM    MY    DREAM 

"  That  is  the  way  I  came  ;  but  when  I  wished  to  go, 
the  door  was  locked/'  I  answered,  boldly,  as  I  saw  she 
suspected  nothing. 

"I  guessed  who  it  was  the  moment  they  spoke  of  your 
but  I  told  no  one,  not  even  M.  de  Maxwell.  Did 
you  see  him  ?  lie  wore  a  brown  coat  laced  with  silver, 
and  we  were  at  your  end  of  the  room,  I  suppose,  while 
you  were  there." 

"Yes,  churic,  I  saw  him  when  he  first  came  to  you." 

**  And  am  I  not  ri<dit  ?    Has  he  not  le  bel  air  ?" 

"He  certainly  has." 

"But  who  else  in  the  world  do  you  think  was  there? 
You  will  never  guess.  Charles !  He  was  on  his  way  to 
Montreal,  and  came  to  the  ball  only  to  see  me  in  my 
finery,  he  said.  Not  every  brother  would  do  that,  let 
me  tell  you  !  and  he  is  oil'  the  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing without  ever  coming  to  tlio  house.  Now  I  must  be 
off  to  bed ;  I  couldn't  iielp  waking  you  to  tell  you  my 
news ;"  and  she  kissed  me  and  went  to  dream  of  her 
pleasures. 


<     ii 


li 


11 


The  following  afternoon  we  went  to  the  Jesuits  for 
benediction — to  me  the  sweetest  service  of  tlie  day.  It 
was  already  growing  dark  as  we  entered.  Within,  the 
narrow  windows  broke  the  blackness  of  the  walls  with 
their  slits  of  dull  gray,  and  the  worshippers  sate  or  knelt 
in  the  twilight,  a  shadowy  throng,  over  which  the  twin- 
kling flood  of  light  from  countless  tapers  on  the  altar 
broke  in  yellow  softness. 

The  peaceful,  tender  service  was  in  perfect  harmony 
with  the  quiet  of  the  evening,  and  I  felt  my  heart  filled 
with  a  great  comfort;  when  suddenly  from  tiie  loft  be- 
hind us,  where  the  musicians  stood,  floated  out  the 
familiar  words, 

Tiintum  ergo  sacnimentum 

Veneremur  cernui 

197 


\]  r  n 


i\ 


THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 


f        r 


m\l 


and  I  sank  trembling  to  my  knees,  for  the  voice  to  me 
was  as  tlie  voice  of  an  angel — it  was  Hugh's  !  I  covered 
my  face  with  my  hands  and  wept  silent,  blessed  tears  of 
joy,  while  the  beautii'ul  hymn  thrilled  through  my  very 
soul. 

"  It  is  M.  de  Maxwell/"  whispered  Angelique  ;  but  I 
could  make  no  answer. 

As  I  walked  home  with  Angelique,  her  enthusiastic 
praise  of  Hugh  stirred  in  me  no  spark  of  resentment, 
much  less  of  jealousy  ;  her  satisfaction  that  I  should 
have  seen  and  admired  was  so  honest  and  open,  and  the 
glimpse  I  had  caught  of  his  bearing  towards  her  was  so  re- 
assuring, that  I  Avas  undisturbed.  In  spite  of  the  trucu- 
lent suggestions  of  M.  de  8arennes,  and  even  in  the  face 
of  my  own  doubts  and  fears  and  pride,  I  was  so  won  back 
to  the  old  drcamings,  so  reawakened  to  the  old  longings, 
that  I  felt  nothing  less  than  his  own  words  could  ever 
satisfy  me  that  I  had  been  mistaken.  After  all,  I  could 
not  see  that  I  ran  any  serious  risk  in  meeting  him ;  in 
such  a  place  as  Quebec  it  was  likely  to  happen  at  any 
moment ;  and  surely  it  were  better  to  take  place  when  I 
was  prepared.  At  the  worst,  my  position  as  Mme.  de  St. 
Just  would  still  serve  to  stand  between  us,  and  I  felt  as- 
sured I  could  rely  on  his  forbearance. 

However,  I  was  not  suffered  to  come  to  any  conclusion, 
for  Mme.  de  Sarennes  met  us  as  we  entered,  with  tidings 
that  drove  everything  else  out  of  my  head  for  the  mo- 
ment. 

"Marguerite,  I  have  news  for  you.  La  mere  de  Ste. 
Ilelune  sends  word,  saying  an  Englishwoman  has  been 
brought  to  the  Ilutel-Dieu,  and  from  the  description  I 
believe  her  to  be  Lucie.  Do  you  both  go  at  once  and  as- 
certain." 

We  hurried  olf  in  great  excitement,  and  an  interview 
with  the  Superior  satisfied  us  that  the  patient  was  indeed 
my  poor  Lucy.     She  had  been  found  that  very  moruiug, 

198 


IP 


"i 


Tiiiiiiiin  cruo  siicruiiionliiiii 
VfiK'n-mur  coriiiii    .  ." 


^f^ 


it   1' 


I    AWAKE    FROM    MY    DREAM 


V   i1 


wandering  in  a  benumbed  and  dazed  condition  on  the 
road  by  the  St.  Charles,  by  a  habitant  coming  with  his 
load  to  early  market,  and  as  he  had  business  at  the  Hotei- 
Dieu,  he  had  carried  her  there  and  given  her  in  charge 
of  the  nuns.  She  was  much  exhausted  by  cold  and  fast- 
ing, but  sleep  and  food  had  restored  her  to  conscious- 
ness, and,  on  finding  she  was  English,  they  had  at  once 
sent  us  word. 

*'  If  you  wish,  you  may  see  her  now,  madame,"  said  the 
Superior.  "And  if  we  are  right,  it  will  serve  to  reassure 
her,  for  she  is  much  troubled  at  being  detained  here." 

Thanking  her,  I  took  my  way  in  charge  of  a  sister,  and 
quietly  entered  the  sick-room.  The  first  glance  at  the 
frail  face  on  the  pillow  told  me  our  search  had  ended, 
and  there  was  instant  recognition  in  the  eyes  that  met 
mine.     I  was  by  her  bedside  in  a  moment. 

*'  Oh,  my  dear  mistress  !"  she  sobbed.  "  It  was  wicked 
of  me  to  desert  you,  but  I  did  not  understand  where  you 
had  gone." 

"No,  no,  Lucy  ;  I  am  the  one  to  be  forgiven.  I  should 
never  have  left  you  ;  but  now  we  arc  together  again,  and 
when  you  are  well  nothing  shall  part  us." 

*MVill  you  stay  with  me  now  ?  I  am  afraid  here  !  It 
is  all  so  strange,  and  I  am  not  well," she  ended,  pitifully. 

*'  Yes,  Lucy,  I  will  stay.  But  first  I  must  ask  per- 
mission, and  send  word  to  Mme.  de  Sarennes." 

"  Will  you  say  to  her  that  I  am  sorry  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  but  no  one  is  blaming  you." 

**  You  are  all  good,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  content ; 
and  I  ran  off  to  obtain  a  ready  approval  of  my  stay  from 
both  the  Superior  and  Angelique,  who  promised  to  re- 
turn on  the  morrow. 

My  presence  was  all  that  was  needed  to  quiet  Lucy, 
and  she  passed  a  restful  night,  to  awaken  so  greatly  im- 
proved that  she  readily  talked  of  her  wanderings.  It 
was  much  as  I  had  suspected ;  M.  de  Sarennes  had  wil- 

199 


THE    SPAN    0'   LIFE 


fully  encouraged  and  deceived  her,  feeding  her  delusion 
at  every  opportunity,  even  giving  her  directions  for  her 
road,  in  the  evident  intent  of  getting  her  out  of  the  way, 
to  have  a  freer  hand  in  his  designs.  It  was  a  relief  to 
find  that  every  one  had  treated  her  with  kindness,  and 
that  she  had  found  a  shelter  in  St.  Roch,  witii  a  widow, 
who  was  thankful  for  the  trifle  she  paid  for  her  lodging. 
Once  she  reached  Quebec  she  was  quite  content,  for  she 
had  only  to  wait  until  Christopher  might  appear.  She 
gave  no  reason  why  she  was  wandering  out  by  the  St. 
Charles,  and  I  did  not  question  her  ;  but  no  doubt  she 
had  really  been  ill  for  days,  and  was  not  fully  conscious 
of  her  action. 

Mme.  de  Sarennes  came  with  Angelique  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  it  was  touching  to  see  how  lively  an  interest 
this  quiet  Lucy  had  awakened  in  both  thoir  hearts. 

"  You  are  in  good  hands,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady, 
graciously.  *'  Show  your  gratitude  by  getting  well  and 
coming  back  to  us." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  madame.  God  has  been  very  good 
to  me,"  she  answered,  in  halting  French  ;  whereupon 
Mme.  de  Sarennes  patted  her  cheek,  and  left  to  speak 
with  her  friend  the  Superior. 

As  she  was  going,  Angelique  beckoned  me  into  the 
corridor,  and  whispered:  "I  was  thinking  last  night 
that  we  might  ask  M.  de  Maxwell  to  come  and  give 
her  news  of  her  boy  when  he  was  in  Louisbourg.  You 
know  Charles  told  us  he  was  much  with  him  there,  and 
1  am  sure  my  mother  can  obtain  leave  from  the  Superior. 
What  do  you  think  ?" 

"I  think  it  would  do  her  more  good  than  anything 
else  in  the  world.     We  will  ask  hei  " 

*' Lucie,"  asked  Angelique,  "  wo  ild  you  like  me  to 
bring  a  gentleman  who  was  in  Louisbourg,  and  who  can 
give  you  news  of  Christophe  when  he  was  there  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  mademoiselle ;  I  should  love  it  above  all 

200 


I    AWAKE    FROM    MY    DREAM 


ng 


things,"  she  answered,  with  a  flush  of  joy  over  her  pale 
face. 

"Very  well ;  we  will  come  to-morrow." 

There  was  every  reason,  for  Lucy's  sake,  why  Hugh 
should  come,  and  in  my  heart  I  longed  to  see  him  again 
before  I  determined  on  my  own  course  of  action.  It  was 
a  pleasing  thought,  too,  that  I  should  see  him  comfort- 
ing one  to  whom  it  would  mean  so  much. 

The  morrow  was  a  long  day  for  both  of  us,  and  at  four 
o'clock,  just  as  it  was  growing  dusk,  I  sate  by  her  bed, 
listening  anxiously  to  every  footfall  in  the  corridor,  until 
at  last  I  caught  Angel ique's  light  step,  followed  by  a 
firmer  tread,  which  I  recognised  at  once. 

It  would  be  hard  to  tell  whether  Lucy  or  I  was  the 
more  excited. 

*'Be  calm,  Lucy,"  I  whispered,  laying  a  trembling 
hand  on  hers ;  and  I  drew  my  chair  up  to  the  head  of 
the  bed,  so  tliat  I  was  completely  hidden  by  its  white 
curtain. 

"'  Lucie,"  said  Angelique,  on  entering,  "  I  have  brought 
my  friend.     Shall  he  come  in  .''" 

"Yes,  mademoiselle,"  answered  Lucy,  in  an  expectant 
voice. 

I  heard  Angelique  go  towards  the  door,  and  then  heard 
Hugh  enter.  I  caught  the  arms  of  my  chair  tightly  as 
he  approached  the  bed,  when,  to  my  amazement,  I  felt 
that  Lucy  had  raised  herself,  and  the  next  instant  she 
cried,  in  a  voice  strained  in  agony  : 

"Hugh   Maxwell!     What   liave  you   done   with   our 

son  ?" 

201 


ll: 


I 


i  i 


to 
jan 


all 


CHAPTER  XXII 


I  AM  TORTURED  BY  MYSELF  AN'D  OTHERS 


^n, 


f 


M 


In  some  manner  I  controlled  myself,  and  in  the  con- 
fusion which  followed  Lucy's  v/ild  cry  I  opened  the  door 
beside  me  and  stepped  noiselessly  into  the  adjoining  room. 

I  sank  down  into  a  chair,  benumbed  in  body  and  be- 
wildered in  mind.  Everything  was  in  a  whirl  of  confu- 
sion, and  through  it  I  heard  the  heart-breaking  cry  that 
was  no  hallucination  of  madness,  no  fancy  of  a  disorder- 
ed mind,  but  an  arraignment  straight  from  the  heart  of 
a  woman  who  perhaps  had  suffered  beyond  what  I  was 
suffering  now. 

What  was  happening  behind  those  closed  doors  ?  Once 
the  mad  impulse  flashed  across  me  to  enter  and  learn  the 
"vorst,  but  I  shrank  appalled  at  the  thought  of  exposing 
n;yself  to  further  humiliation.  In  my  seeking  for  some 
escape,  I  even  questioned  if  I  had  heard  aright;  it  seemed 
impossible  that  there  should  not  be  some  explanation, 
that  there  was  not  some  horrible  mistake,  and  a  fierce 
anger  swept  over  me  at  the  injustice  of  it  all. 

Had  I  wasted  the  love  of  my  youth — the  love  of  my 
life — on  a  man  whom  I  had  endowed  with  every  noble 
quality  of  which  I  could  conceive  to  find  that  he  was 
only  of  the  same  common  clay  as  others  whose  advances 
I  had  ignored  because  I  had  set  him  so  high  ? 

In  my  anger  I  j)ut  him  beneath  all  others,  because,  as 
a  silly  girl,  I  had  been  blinded  by  my  own  delusions,  and, 
as  a  foolish  woman,  I  had  gone  on  dreaming  the  dreams  of 
a  girl.     The  thought,  too,  of  Lucy  having  been  so  close 

303 


I    AM    TOKTUKED 


r 


ig 


as 

id, 

of 

)se 


to  me  all  these  months,  and  of  how  nearly  1  had  confided 
in  her,  stung  me  like  a  blow. 

And  this  was  the  end  !  I  had  wasted  every  affection 
of  my  nature  in  blind  worship  of  tlie  idol  which  now  lay 
shattered  at  tlie  first  blow.  I  had  wandered  with  reck- 
less foot  far  from  the  path  in  which  all  prudent  women 
tread,  to  find  myself  in  a  wilderness  alone  and  without  a 
refuge.  My  secret  was  in  the  keeping  of  Sarennes,  who 
would  sooner  or  later  betray  it,  when  he  thought  by  so 
doing  he  could  bend  me  to  his  will. 

Why  had  I  never  looked  at  this  with  the  same  eyes, 
the  same  brain  I  had  used  in  other  matters  ?  In  other 
matters  I  had  conducted  myself  as  a  reasonable  woman 
should  ;  but  in  this,  the  weightiest  affair  in  my  life,  had 
I  wandered,  without  sane  thought,  without  any  guide  save 
impulses  so  unreasoning  that  they  could  scarce  have  even 
swayed  my  judgment  in  other  things. 

Then,  my  anger  having  passed,  I  saw  the  whole  in- 
credible folly  of  my  life,  and  alone  and  in  bitter  misery 
I  trod  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  until  with  wearied  soul 
and  softened  heart  I  knelt  and  prayed  for  deliverance. 

When  I  returned  to  the  house  the  effort  to  meet  and 
talk  with  others  did  much  to  restore  me  to  myself.  An- 
gelique,  I  could  see,  was  greatly  excited,  and  it  was  a 
pain  to  think  that  what  to  me  was  a  bitter  degradation 
and  the  wreck  of  all  my  hopes  could  possibly  be  looked 
upon  by  a  young  and  innocent  girl  as  a  piece  of  curious 
surmisal,  perhaps  to  be  lauglied  over  and  speculated  upon, 
without  a  thought  of  the  misery  it  entailed. 

In  my  room  that  night  I  reasoned  out  my  whole  posi- 
tion calmly  from  the  beginning,  and  with  a  chilling  fear 
I  saw  myself  confronted  by  a  new  humilation. 

Had  I  not  in  my  infatuation  misconstrued  every  little 
kindness  on  the  part  of  Hugh,  every  expression  of  sym- 
pathy and  of  ordinary  courtesy,  nay,  every  smile,  and 

203 


V 

Ml 


i 


F^   f 


THE    SPAN    U'   LIFE 


fi     ' 


look,  and  word,  into  a  language  which  existed  only  in 
my  credulous  imagination  ?  Had  he  ever  spoken  a  sin- 
gle word  of  love  to  mo  ?  Had  he  not  even  refused  to 
answer  my  girlish  appeal  to  him  at  our  parting  ?  Was  it, 
then,  possible  that  1  was  not  only  in  a  false  position  now, 
but  that  I  had  throughout  been  playing  that  most  con- 
temptible of  all  roles — the  infatuated  woman  who  imag- 
ines herself  beloved  by  one  indifferent  to  her?  I  was 
overwhelmed  with  shame  at  the  thought,  still,  turn  it  as 
I  might,  I  could  not  se.  that  it  admitted  of  any  other 
conclusion. 

Yet  ignominious  as  it  all  was,  it  must  be  faced,  for  it 
was  impossible  that  I  should  go  on  lamenting  or  living  in 
the  misery  of  constant  self-reproach.  It  I  had  had  the 
courage  to  defy  the  world  in  my  Quixote  endeavour  to 
right  the  supposed  wrongs  of  another,  should  I  not  put 
forth  some  measure  of  the  same  courage  to  protect  my- 
self ?  Because  I  had  met  with  a  disaster  humbling  to 
my  self-respect  and  pride,  surely  I  was  not  forced  to  pro- 
claim my  own  defeat  to  the  world,  and  thus  add  ridicule 
to  humiliation.  Cost  what  it  might,  I  determined  to 
put  forth  every  endeavour  to  prevent  Hugh  even  sus- 
pecting the  true  motive  of  my  presence  in  Canada  until 
the  time  should  come  when  1  might  return  in  safety. 


It  cost  me  an  effort  to  return  to  Lucy.  T  had  almost 
a  dislike  to  see  her  again,  but  my  pride  came  to  my  sup- 
port, and,  wlien  I  went,  I  saw  I  had  exaggerated  the  diffi- 
culty, for  I  found  a  different  creature  awaiting  me. 
Whatever  suffering  I  had  gone  through,  it  was  clear  this 
poor  soul  had  gained  some  great  relief,  and  my  selfish- 
ness was  not  proof  against  her  content.  She  had  for- 
gotten that  I  had  been  beside  her  when  Hugh  had  en- 
tered. The  greatness  of  his  revelation,  whatever  it  had 
been,  had  swept  away  all  smaller  things,  and  she  lay 
there  with  a  new  light  in  her  face,  but  as  quiet  and  self- 

204 


> 


I    AM    TORTURED 

contained  as  before.     Had  she  spoken,  I  could  not  have 
borne  it. 

My  courage  in  respect  to  Hugh  was  not  immediately 
put  to  the  proof,  as  lie  had  been  ordered  otf  to  Montreal, 
there  to  join  M.  de  Levis  as  aide-de-camp,  and  I  had  both 
time  and  freedom  for  decision. 

Much  to  Angelique's  delight,  I  now  accompanied  her 
to  all  the  balls  and  junketings  that  went  on,  for  I  had 
nothing  further  to  fear,  and,  alas,  nothing  to  hope.  M. 
de  Montcalm  and  the  others  received  me  with  warm  wel- 
come, and  made  a  small  ovation  over  my  appearance. 

I  suffered,  however,  as  is  often  the  case  with  a  new- 
comer in  a  small  society,  from  the  stupid  jealousy  of  some 
of  the  women,  who  resented  my  appearance  as  an  intru- 
der, and  who  more  than  once  started  reports  as  to  my 
position,  which  were  rendered  the  more  persistent  on  ac- 
count of  the  open  championship  of  M.  de  Montcalm. 

At  first  I  thought  little  of  this  petty  annoyance,  but 
was  not  prepared  for  the  length  to  which  some  were 
willing  to  carry  it. 

Late  one  afternoon  Angelique  burst  in  upon  me  in  a 
storm  of  indignation: 

''Marguerite,  I  [»m  ashamed  of  my  countrywomen! 
There  has  been  a  scene  this  afternoon  at  Mme.  de  Beau- 
bassin's  which  went  beyond  all  limits  of  decency.  Neither 
your  position  as  a  stranger  nor  mine  as  your  friend  was 
respected.  It  is  horrible  what  animals  women  can  be 
wlien  once  they  begin  I  Let  me  tell  you  what  has  hap- 
pened, and  see  if  I  am  wrong  ! 

"  Mme.  de  Beaubassin,  who  cannot  bear  that  any  one 
should  have  any  attraction  for  the  Marquis  save  herself, 
made  some  malicious  remark  about  you  before  M.  Pou- 
lariez. 

** '  ,  de  grace  !  madame/  he  exclaimed  ;  'surely  you 
are       :ig  too  far  !' 

Uan  you  answer  for  her,  then,  monsieur  ?'  she  re- 

205 


-r(|^,.^:o-»«.«Ja»» 


vt 

i 

il 

I 

ii 


i<>. 


m 

I': 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

turned,  wickedly.  '  Perhaps  yon  con  tell  me  who  la  belle 
;ficossaise  really  is  ?' 

"  'I  will  answer  for  her/  brok'^  in  the  little  Joannas, 
whom  I  love,  because  he  is  so  dreadfully  in  earnest  over 
everything — '  I  will  answer  for  her  !  I  lost  four  hundred 
goo  \  crowns  at  pharaon  last  night,  but  I  will  wager  four 
hundred  more  with  any  lady  in  the  room,  or  I  will  cross 
swords  with  any  gentleman  in  Quebec,  for  the  fair  fame 
of  Mme.  de  St.  Just  at  any  moment.  I  know  that  she 
is  intimate  with  one  of  the  oldest  friends  of  M.  de  Mont- 
calm, that  he  knows  her  family,  and  I  know  that  she  is 
one  of  the  most  charming  creatures  I  ever  set  eyes  on  V 
Marguerite,  I  could  have  kissed  him,  he  was  so  gallant ! 

"  *  Then,  M.  Joannes,  since  you  are  so  fully  informed, 
perhaps  you  will  explain  the  whe'eabouts  of  Monsieur 
de  St.  Just !  Perhaps  you  will  tell  us  why  the  lady  was 
so  anxious  to  get  into  Louisbourg  before  the  siege  !  Per- 
haps you  know  why  she  went  to  the  brll  on  Twelfth- 
Night  in  disguise  !  Perhaps  it  is  clear  to  you  why,  after 
refusing  to  meet  any  of  us,  she  now  goes  everywhere,  and 
seoks  the  confidence  of  M.  de  Montcalm  and  other  high 
officers  when  the  plans  for  the  coming  campaign  are  un- 
der discussion  !  That  she  is  a  Scotchwoman  she  states, 
but  I  have  not  remarked  that  she  is  intimate  with  her 
countryman,  M.  de  Maxwell,  of  whose  loyalty  no  one 
has  any  doubt. ' 

*•*  Neither  have  I  any  doubt  that  Mme.  de  St.  Just 
has  her  own  reasons  for  choosing  her  acquaintance, 
madarae,'  answered  M.  Joannas,  with  the  same  spirit. 
'  But  I  do  not  see  that  anything  is  to  be  gained  by  con- 
tinuing this  conversation  ;  the  main  thing  is  that  I  know 
Mme.  do  St.  Just  to  be  a  lady  of  both  family  and  position.* 

" '  Do  you  happen  to  know  that  her  brother  is  a  cap- 
tain in  the  English  army  ?' 

"  '  I  have  known  it  for  months  past,  madame.     What 

of  it  ?' 

206 


I     \ 


:now 


I    AM    TORTUKED 

'*  *  And  that  he  was  a  prisoner  in  Louisboiirg  ?' 

"'Certainly;  no  secret  has  been  made  of  it/ he  an- 
swered, as  cool  as  a  boy  at  his  catechism. 

"  She  seemed  much  put  out  at  this  rebuff,  but  turned 
towards  the  others  and  went  on,  angrily  : 

"  '  Of  course  a  woman  has  no  right  to  an  opinion  in 
the  face  of  such  an  authority  as  M.  Joannes,  but  I  am 
sure  so  patriotic  a  brother  will  be  interested  in  such  a 
sister's  letters,  and  that  the  authentic  news  she  may  send 
from  Quebec  cannot  fail  to  be  of  interest  to  his  superi- 
ors. It  may  be  tho  part  of  an  affectionate  sister,  ambi- 
tious for  her  brothvn''s  advancement,  but  hardly  that  of 
a  friend  to  be  encouraged  by  us.  There  I  Tliat  is  what  I 
believe  ;  and  if  you  others  are  too  blind  to  see  behind  a 
pretty  face  and  a  disconsolate  manner,  so  much  the  worse 
for  us  all.' 

"Marguerite,  my  dear,  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  room 
who  didn't  protest  against  her  ungenerous  suspicions. 
I  was  proud  of  them  all  I  But  none  of  the  women  said 
a  word,  and  the  spiteful  little  creature  stuck  to  her 
ground,  vowing  she  would  spoak  to  the  Marquis,  so  that 
he,  at  least,  should  not  be  unwarned. 

"I  waited  until  she  was  done,  for  I  was  determined  to 
hear  the  end,  and  then  I  said  . 

" '  Mme.  de  Bcaubassin,  I  have  not  spoken  because  I 
am  only  a  girl,  and  neither  my  mother's  hospitality,  nor 
my  mother's  guest,  requires  any  defence  from  me;  1  trust 
both  implicitly.  Our  thanks  and  those  of  Mme.  de  St. 
Just,  our  friend,  are  due  to  every  gentleman  in  tho  room. 
I  was  under  some  obligation  to  you,  madume,  for  your 
attentions  to  me  in  the  past,  but  you  liave  more  than 
cancelled  them  now.  and  1  will  not  enter  your  door  again 
until  you  have  apologised  to  us  all.' 

"  '  My  dear  child,'  she  said,  with  her  hateful  smile, 
'you  are  young,  but  time  will  correct  that,  as  well  as 
your  breeding  and  your  judgment  ;  until  then  I  shall 

207 


r]  I 


I 


I        \ 


f 


M 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


miss  your  society,  but  will  pray  for  your  enlighten- 
ment.' 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so  abominable  !  M. 
Poulariez  gave  me  his  hand,  and  the  dear  little  Joannes 
followed  us  to  the  door,  whispering  : 

*''Brava!  Brava,  mademoiselle!  It  was  excellent! 
You  could  not  have  said  better  V 

*'  Now  what  will  you  do,  Marguerite  ?'*' 

**  There  is  nothing  to  do,  cherie  ;  such  things  must 
die  of  themselves." 

*'But  she  said  you  were  a  spy,  in  so  many  words." 

"  You  do  not  think  so  ?" 

*' Oh,  Marguerite  !"  she  cried,  as  she  jumped  up  and 
strained  me  to  her,  covering  me  with  kisses. 

"  Well,  neither  does  your  mother,  nor  M.  de  Mont- 
calm, nor  any  of  the  gentlemen  who  defended  me  this 
afternoon.  My  only  regret  is  that  I  should  be  the  cause 
of  annoyance  to  such  friends." 

Though  I  spake  bravely  enough,  I  could  not  but  feel 
the  effect  of  such  a  report,  nor  fail  to  recognise  there  was 
oftentimes  a  galling  restraint  on  my  appeararce,  which 
was  only  aggravated  by  the  too  evident  efforts  of  my 
champions  towards  its  dissipation. 


511: 


'I  I 


But  all  such  social  jealousies  and  plottings  were  scat- 
tered by  the  approach  of  spring,  when  an  unending  ac- 
tivity pervaded  all  classes  throughout  the  colony.  The 
arrival  of  the  first  ships  was  looked  for  with  anxiety,  as 
they  would  bring  the  message  of  peace,  or  renewed  hos- 
tilities, which  to  me  meant  either  escape  or  a  continu- 
ance of  my  difficulties. 

It  was  M.  Joannes  who  brought  me  the  news  : 
**  Well,  madame,  it  seems  it  io  to  be  war !    But  instead 
of  money,  they  have  sent  us  some  scanty  provisions  ;  and 
instead  of  a  regiment,  some  raw  recruits  to  drag  out  this 
weary  farce,  already  too  long." 

308 


I    AM    TORTURED 


"  I  am  sorry  you  do  not  look  at  it  more  hopefully, 
monsieur," 

"  How  can  I  ?  Think  what  has  happened  since  last 
spring.  Louisbourg,  Froiitenac,  Duquesne,  all  lost ; 
famine  in  our  towns  ;  misery  in  the  country  ;  an  in- 
sane jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  officials  which  thwarts 
every  move  we  suggest ;  corruption  to  an  extent  that 
is  almost  beyond  belief,  and  on  every  side  of  us  an 
active,  strong,  and  enthusiastic  enemy.  That  is  the 
only  quarter  where  we  look  for  fair  play  !"  he  ended, 
with  the  laugh  of  a  boy  who  sees  his  sport  before 
him. 

It  was  impossible  that  I  should  plan  for  return  before 
we  saw  what  move  the  English  might  make  by  sea,  so  I 
abandoned  all  thought  of  it,  aufl  settled  down  to  await 
the  outcome. 


U 


At  the  beginning  of  June  volunteers  gathered  from 
the  upper  parishes,  and  with  the  militia  and  troops  from 
Montreal,  crossed  over  the  St.  Charles  to  take  their 
places  in  the  camp  Avhcre  M.  do  Levis  had  already  pro- 
jected his  works.  Day  after  day  we  watched  the  men 
toiling,  and  presently  our  linos  of  defence  began  to  creep 
slowly  out  along  the  shores  of  Beauport. 

That  Hugh  was  there  I  knew,  but  I  kept  myself  from 
thinking  by  my  daily  attendance  on  Lucy,  whose  unfail- 
ing hope  saw  its  fuUilment  almost  within  touch  when  I 
told  her  of  the  certain  coming  of  t  he  English.  Gay  parties 
of  chattering  women  wore  made  up  to  go  out  to  the  camp 
and  encourage  the  workers,  but  my  heart  ached  too 
wearily  even  at  my  own  distance  to  wisii  for  any  nearer 
approach. 

I  stood  with  Angelique  one  evening  in  the  garden  of 
the  Hutel-Dieu,  and  even  here  the  engineers  had  erected 
a  battery  overhanging  the  steep  clitf.  Looking  up  tow- 
ards the  left,  we  could  see  the  bridge  of  boats,  at  the  far 
o  209 


I 


' 

T"^  Ml 

1 

i 

m 

IP 

"!■ 

m 


{ 


It 


i  I 


;}'- 


> 


t; 


it 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

end  of  which  a  hive  of  busy  workers  toiler!  at  a  fortifica- 
tion, called  a  hornwork,  while  immediately  below  us  oth- 
ers were  building  a  boom  to  be  floated  across  the  wide 
mouth  of  the  8t.  Charles  to  protect  the  bridge,  and  from 
this  point  on,  down  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  lay 
our  main  defences. 

There  the  white  coats  of  the  regulars  mingled  with 
the  blue  and  grey  of  the  Canadians  and  volunteers.  Ind- 
ians stalked  or  squatted  about,  taking  no  part  in  a  labour 
they  could  not  understand  ;  officers  moved  to  and  fro, 
directing  and  encouraging  tlio  men,  and  from  the  manor 
of  Beauport  floated  the  General's  flag,  marking  liis  head- 
quarters. 

Before  this  restless,  toiling  m.ass  swept  the  great  empty 
river,  changing  its  colour  with  every  change  of  sky  whicli 
floated  over  it,  while  behind  stretched  tiie  beautiful  valley 
of  the  St.  Charles,  its  gentle  upward  sweep  of  woods  bro- 
ken only  by  the  green  fields  and  white  walls  of  Charles- 
bourg  until  it  met  the  range  of  bine  and  purple  hills 
which  guards  it  to  the  north.  At  a  point  opposite  where 
we  were  standing  the  nearer  mountains  opened  out  and 
shewed  a  succe^^sion  of  golden  hills  whicli  seemed,  in 
the  tender  evening  liglit,  as  the  gates  of  some  heaveidy 
country  where  all  was  peace,  and  the  rumour  of  war 
could  never  enter. 

At  length  all  preparations  were  com})lete,  and  we 
waited  impiiticntly  for  tlie  drama  to  begin. 

Towards  the  end  of  June  the  first  English  ships  were 

reported,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-second  an 

excited  group  of  ladies  gatherea    n  the  Battery  of  the 

Ilotel-Dieu,  and  through  a  storm  which  swept  down  over 

the  hills,  amid  the  flashing  of  lightning  and  to  the  roar 

of  thunder   we  watched  their  fleet  silently  file  into  view 

in  the  Soutii  Channel,  and  come  to  anchor  under  shelter 

of  the  Isle  of  Orleans.     In  the  chapel  the  nuns  were 

ainging  : 

210 


I  AM    TORTURED 

"  Sotitcnez,  grande  Reine, 
Notre  piiuvre  pnys : 

II  est  voire  doniainc. 
Ftiites  flL'urir  nos  lis. 

"  L'Anglois  siir  nos  f  ion  litres 
Porte  ses  etendards. 
Exaucez  nos  pribres, 
Proiegez  nos  rcraparts." 

And  as  if  in  answer,  one  by  one,  our  watch-fires  were 
kindled,  until  they  twinkled  in  a  long  unbroken  line 
from  the  St.  Charles  to  Montmorenci. 

The  long  siege  had  begun.  Such  an  array  of  ships  was 
never  before  seen  from  the  walls  of  Quebec.  There  were 
the  flag-ships  of  Admirals  Saunders,  Holmes,  and  Diirell ; 
twenty-three  ships  of  the  line,  besides  frigates,  trans- 
ports, and  a  flock  of  smaller  craft  nestled  under  shelter 
of  the  Island  ;  all  these  crowded  with  ten  or  twelve  thou- 
sand troops  under  General  Wolfe  and  his  brigadiers, 
Monckton,  Townshend,  and  Murray,  fresh  from  triumph, 
and  determined  on  a  desperate  effort  for  new  conquest. 

Face  to  face  with  them  stretched  our  long  line  of  de- 
fenders, as  resolute  and  as  confident — regulars,  militia, 
Indians,  and  volunteers,  and  in  the  ranks  of  the  latter 
tlie  grandfather  stood  by  the  grandson  ;  had  the  wives 
and  daughters  been  permitted,  many  of  them,  I  doubt 
not,  would  have  held  a  musket  beside  those  dearest  to 
them. 

On  land  and  on  water,  there  was  constant  change  and 
movement ;  the  stately  vessels  moved  slowly  up  and 
uown,  small  boats  plied  backward  and  forward,  troops 
were  landed  where  unopposed  ;  on  our  side  of  the  river 
every  eye  was  vigihiut,  guessing  what  each  new  move 
might  portend.  No  one  could  look  upon  it  witiiout  a 
swifter-beating  iieart.  Before  us  swept  all  '*the  pomp 
and  circumstance  of  war  "  without  any  of  its  horror — us 

an 


Hi 


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jfp 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

yet — and  the  panorama  in  which  it  was  displayed  added 
to  its  dignity  and  importance. 

We  became  accustomed  to  the  distant  boom  of  heavy 
guns,  and  watched  the  constant  movement  of  the  com- 
batants with  much  excited  comment  and  foolish  security. 

It  was  Gabriel  who  first  brought  us  face  to  face  with 
the  reality.  We  were  surprised  by  his  appearance  at  the 
house  about  the  middle  of  July  ;  he  looked  twenty  years 
older ;  all  his  former  jauntiness  of  manner  had  disap- 
peared, and  so  dejected  was  his  bearing  I  could  scarce 
believe  it  was  the  same  man  I  had  known. 

**  Mesdames,"  he  said,  "  my  respects  to  you  all,  though 
I  come  as  a  bearer  of  bad  tidings." 

"No  one  expects  compliments  in  time  of  war,  Gabriel. 
Tell  me  it  is  not  my  son,  and  you  may  speak  freely,"  said 
the  brave  old  lady,  with  a  blanched  face. 

*' Thank  Gotl,  it  is  not  !  lie  came  into  cump  only  yes- 
terday, with  a  hundred  good  men  behind  him,  so  worn 
out  that  they  are  fitter  for  the  hospital  than  the  field, 
but  good  food  and  rest  will  set  them  right  again  in  a 
week.  Ah,  madame,"  he  cried,  with  a  sparkle  of  his  old 
air,  **but  he  has  tickled  them  rarely!  Bedame  !  his 
name  will  not  smell  sweet  in  their  nostrils  for  many  a 
long  day  !" 

**Then  tell  us  your  news,  Gabriel;  anything  else  is 
easily  borne." 

**  *  Un  fou  fait  toujours  commencement,'  madame,  and 
I  know  not  how  to  beijin.  But  the  Eiii>:lish  bejjan  with 
M.  de  Sarenncs,  and  they  found  him  so  little  to  their 
taste  that  they  have  ended  by  burning  the  manor  at 
Bcaulieu  level  with  the  ground,  and  not  a  barn  nor  out- 
building is  left  on  the  domaine." 

*'  If  tiieir  sons  could  give  such  cause  for  reprisal,  there 
is  not  a  woman  in  Canada  who  would  not  be  proud  to 
suffer  a  like  revenge,"  responded  the  old  lady,  with  un- 
faltering voice. 

213 


'« 


I    AM   TORTURED 


"  Do  not  fear,  madatne,  our  day  will  come  ;  and  when 
it  comes  we  will  all  have  our  scores  to  wipe  out.  I  know 
that  I  have  mine  V 

"Surely  they  have  not  stooped  to  burn  your  cot- 
tage ?" 

"  No  ;  it  is  safe  ;  and  so  is  my  Amelia.  My  quarrel  is 
on  my  own  account.  They  tricked  me  on  board  their 
fleet  by  flying  our  colours,  and  carried  me  here." 

**Do  not  dare  to  stand  here  and  tell  me  that  you 
piloted  them  !"  cried  the  old  lady,  with  the  utmost 
scorn. 

"  No,  madame,  I  did  not." 

"  Then  you  may  go  on,"  she  said,  sternly. 

"  I  did  not ;  but  it  makes  little  difference,  madame." 

"  It  makes  every  difference  whether  we  are  traitors  or 
not !     Go  on." 

"Well,  madame,  when  I  found  I  was  trapped  I  made 
all  the  stir  I  could.  I  blustered  and  swore,  and,  Heaven 
forgive  me  !  I  lied  to  them  as  I  had  never  lied  before. 
I  boasted  like  a  Bastonnais,  and  when  they  commanded 
me  to  take  charge  in  the  Traverse,  I  said  no,  though  I 
had  a  pistol  behind  my  head  and  my  Amelia  before  my 
eyes  all  the  time.  But  they  did  not  blow  my  brains  out 
— they  only  laughed  at  me.  Madame,  it  is  dreadful  to 
be  ready  to  die,  and  find  they  only  laugh,"  and  the  tears 
streamed  down  his  rugged  cheeks  as  he  spake. 

"  My  good  Gabriel,  we  are  proud  of  you  !     Go  on  !" 

"It  was  of  no  use;  tlioy  had  their  boats  out  with  flags 
to  mark  the  channel,  and  an  old  devil  tlicy  calleil  Killiuk 
swept  me  aside  as  one  might  a  dirty  rag,  and  took  com- 
mand, calling  out  his  directions  to  the  boats  and  edging 
the  ship  along  without  a  mistake,  though  I  prayed  with 
all  my  soul  he  might  ground  her.  lie  was  a  sorcerer, 
madame,  for  he  took  the  ship  up  as  if  he  had  done 
nothing  else  all  his  life.  Wiien  they  were  through,  they 
jeered  at  me  in  their  damnable  English,  and  treated  me 

213 


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SP 


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THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

with  a  kinflnoss  that  was  harder  than  blows;  and  then, 
to  add  to  my  shame,  they  sent  me  on  shore  with  the 
women  hist  week,  as  if  they  feared  me  just  as  little, 
which  was  worst  of  all." 

** Never  mind,  Gabriel.  You  did  all  that  a  brave  man 
could — and  the  siei^e  is  not  over  yet  I" 

"  That  is  true,  nuulaine,"  he  cried,  brightening  under 
lier  kindly  words,  '-and,  saving  your  honour,  'le  mulet 
garde  longuement  un  coup  de  pied  a  son  maitre,^  as  we 
say.     Tiiat  is  my  comfort."  «■ 

*' Will  you  join  M.  de  Sarennes,  Gabriel  ?*' asked  Mme. 
de  Sarcunes.  "  I  would  like  to  think  he  had  so  good  a 
man  beside  him." 

"  No,  madamo  ;  I  have  orders  to  go  on  board  the  ves- 
sels at  Sillery.  I  will  be  of  more  use  there  than  on 
shore.'' 

**Good.  You  will  remember  Beaulieu  when  your  turn 
comes  with  the  English  !" 

'"  1  will,  madame,  and  if  le  bon  Dieu  ever  allows  me 
that  kick,  rest  assured  it  shall  be  a  good  one  !"  and  he 
left  us  laughing,  much  comforted  in  his  trouble. 

Though  never  out  of  the  sight  and  sound  of  war,  we  had 
so  far  suffered  but  little  in  the  city  itself.  We  watched 
with  curiosity  the  English  intrenching  themselves  on 
the  opposite  heights  of  the  Pointe  de  Levy,  and  there 
was  much  speculation  among  us  as  to  their  object.  That 
tlie  city  would  be  bombarded  was  scouted  as  ridiculous  ; 
but  one  midnight  towards  the  end  of  June  we  were 
awakened  by  the  heavy  booming  of  artillery,  and  rushed 
to  our  windows  to  see  the  heights  of  the  Levy  shore 
flashing  with  the  explosions  from  tlie  cannon,  and  the 
hill  beneath  us  filled  with  a  panting,  terror-stricken 
crowd,  laden  with  every  conceivable  description  of  house- 
hold goods,  clambering  up  past  us  to  gain  some  corner 
of  safety,  while  the  flames  from  a  shattered  warehouse 

»14 


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inspired 

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rifled  sei 
myself  tl 
outburst 

Some  1 
the  stret 
vants  to 
few  moE 
"  0  mon 
are  lost ! 


I   AM   TORTURED 


in  the  Basse  Ville  threw  an  ominous  glare  over  the  black- 
ness of  the  river.  War  in  its  most  terrifying  guise  was 
at  our  very  doors,  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  heroic 
calmness  of  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  we  should  probably  have 
joined  the  distracted  crowd  in  the  streets.  While  af- 
frighted women  and  children,  and  even  men,  rushed  past 
in  the  wildness  of  their  terror,  filling  the  night  with  the 
clamour  of  despair,  and  exposing  themselves  to  still 
greater  dangers  in  their  efforts  to  escape,  she  gathered 
her  little  household  about  her  and  set  fear  at  defi- 
ance. 

Dressed  with  her  usual  care,  she  sate  in  the  drawing- 
room  with  all  the  candles  lighted,  the  shutters  closed, 
and  the  curtains  tightly  drawn.  There  was  not  a  trace 
more  colour  than  usual  in  her  fine,  high-bred  face,  nor  a 
quiver  to  her  slender  hands,  nor  a  tremor  in  her  voice  as 
she  repeated  some  familiar  psalm,  or  led  us  in  the  prayers 
we  offered  unceasingly  throughout  tlie  long  night.  Her 
calmness,  superior  to  the  alarm  without,  dominated  over 
the  more  ignorant  he  put  away  danger  from  before 
them— as  her  unshaKen  confidence  in  a  high  protection 
inspired  the  more  courageous. 

But,  for  faint  and  stout  hearted  alike,  it  was  a  fearful 
night.  For  hours  the  great  guns  played  without  ceas- 
ing ;  at  the  nearer  explosions  the  very  rock  on  which  the 
house  was  founded  seemed  loosened,  and  the  effort  to 
control  ourselves  and  not  leap  to  our  feet  with  the  ter- 
rified servants  became  such  a  strain  on  Angelique  and 
myself  that  we  dared  not  let  our  eyes  meet,  for  fear  of  an 
outburst  of  tears. 

Some  time  during  the  night,  at  an  unusual  uproar  in 
the  street,  Mme.  de  Sarennes  sent  one  of  the  men-ser- 
vants to  the  upper  windows  to  discover  its  cause.  In  a 
few  moments  he  returned  with  horror-stricken  face — 
''  0  mon  Dieu,  madame  !  the  Cathedral  is  on  fire  !  We 
are  lost !"     At  which,  a  wail  of  despair  broke  from  us  all. 

215 


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*!«  ■ 


yi^ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

Aiig61inne*8  head  dropped  on  her  mother's  lap.    '*  0  ma 
m^re  !     It  was  God's  own  house  !"  she  sobbed. 

Her  mother's  white  hand  softly  stroked  her  hair  with 
reassuring  firmness,  while  she  whispered  words  of  com- 
fort. Then  to  every  awe-struck  heart  about  her  she  said, 
with  confidence,  "It  was  the  house  of  (lod  Himself,  and 
He  has  not  spared  it,  while  His  hand  has  been  over  our 
roof,  and  He  is  holding  each  one  of  us  safe  in  His  keep- 
ing ";  and  we  took  fresh  courage  at  her  words. 

Gradually  the  fire  slackened,  and  at  length  ceased. 
The  morning  came,  and  we  were  still  safe  and  untouched, 
amid  the  surrounding  ruin. 

Soon  after  daybreak  we  heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
the  Town-Major,  M.  Joannes,  was  ushered  in. 

He  looked  upon  us  with  astonishment  in  his  tired  eyes. 

*'Mme.  de  Sarennes,  no  one  suspected  }ou  of  being 
here  !  All  the  inhabitants  fled  from  the  face  of  the  town 
when  the  fire  opened.  Pardon  mc,  but  you  must  move 
at  once." 

*'We  have  only  been  waiting  for  orders,  monsieur. 
Where  are  we  to  go  ?" 

"  To  the  Hotel-Dieu  for  the  present,  madame  ;  but  it 
is  quite  possible  that  will  soon  be  unsafe,  now  they  have 
our  range.  With  your  permission,  I  will  send  some  men 
at  once  to  move  what  can  be  carried  and  stored  in  some 
safer  place ;  for  you  cannot  expect  the  house  to  stand 
through  another  fire." 

"  It  has  served  its  purpose,  monsieur ;  we  have  no  right 
to  larger  regrets  than  have  others.  Come,  my  children, 
let  us  go." 

With  a  last  look  round  the  room  that  had  seen  so  much 
of  her  life  within  its  walls,  she  passed  out,  and  bidding 
us  gather  our  lighter  valuables  and  some  clothing,  with- 
drew for  a  few  moments  to  her  own  room,  and  then  re- 
joined us  in  the  hallway. 

We  made  a  sad  little  procession  as  we  threaded  our 

316 


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I    AM    TORTURED 

way  throngh  the  ruined  streets,  between  the  smoking  and 
crumbling  walls  of  the  homes  we  had  looked  upon  but 
yesterday,  bright  with  all  the  assuring  signs  of  comfort- 
able, secure  life,  past  the  wrecked  Cathedral,  and  between 
piles  of  household  goods  heaped  in  ruinous  confusion  in 
the  Place.  This  was  now  crowded  with  anxious,  pale- 
laced  people,  hollow-eyed  and  aged  witli  the  terror  of 
actual  war,  seeking  out  their  little  valuables,  some  with 
shrill-voiced  complaint  and  contention,  others  with  a 
hopeless,  silent  mien  that  went  to  our  hearts,  and  yet 
othors  with  an  air  of  gayety  and  the  tricks  and  bulfoon- 
eries  of  school  children. 


3 


r 


We  were  thankful  to  escape  out  of  the  hubbub  and 
distraction  of  the  streets  to  the  quiet  within  the  walls  of 
the  Hotel-Dieu;  but,  alas!  the  next  night  the  bombard- 
ment recommenced,  and  it  was  apparent  we  could  not 
long  hope  for  safety,  as  the  English  fire  became  more  ex- 
act and  far-reaching. 

The  white-robed  nuns  moved  about  their  duties  ith 
calm  resignation,  though  often  the  trembling  lips  or  the 
involuntary  start  told  of  the  strain  it  cost  to  control  the 
natural  alarm  which  shook  the  heart  when  some  nearer 
crash  foretold  approaching  disaster. 

Lucy  lay  calm  and  unmoved  ;  every  day  that  bror.ght 
the  English  nearer,  was  bringing  her  nearer  to  Kit.  The 
thunder  of  the  bombardment  was  to  her  like  the  knock- 
ing on  the  gate  which  shut  her  in  from  her  one  object  in 
life,  and  that  it  was  being  shattered  meant  only  delivt'i- 
ance.  When  orders  (\amo  to  remove  to  tlu'  <  Jcncral  Hos- 
pital, v/ithout  the  walls  of  the  town  and  beyond  all  im- 
mediate danger,  she  was  more  disturbed  tiian  at  any 
time  during  the  siege. 

The  Hospital  stood  in  the  valley  of  the  St.  Charles, 
somewhat  less  than  a  mile  from  the  town,  witli  the  river 
sweeping  in  a  great  bend  on  the  one  side,  and  the  steep 


I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

Heights,  at  the  erd  of  which  the  town  stood,  rising  on 
the  other.  Wc  were  cut  off  from  any  view  of  the  St. 
Lawrence,  but  the  sight  of  the  bridge  of  boats,  with  its 
hornwork,  across  tlie  tongue  of  land  enclosed  by  the  sweep 
of  the  river,  and  the  walls  of  the  town  crowning  the 
Heights,  kept  us  in  touch  with  the  struggle  going  on  be- 
tween us  and  the  English,  who  still  held  the  St.  Law- 
rence, with  its  opposite  shore. 

The  convent  itself  was  a  pile  of  grey  stone  buildings 
forming  a  quadrangle  with  wings,  begun  by  the  Recollect 
fathers  nearly  a  century  before.  It  was  in  two  of  their 
curious  little  cells  that  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  Angelique, 
and  I  were  lodged.  The  chapel  opened  out  of  the  square 
entry — it  scarce  could  be  dignified  as  a  hiill — on  which 
the  principal  doorway  gave,  and  to  the  right  of  this  was 
the  long,  lo»v-ceilinged  room,  lighted  by  many-paned  win- 
dows down  one  side,  which  now  served  as  a  common 
meeting-place  for  the  nuns  of  the  three  congregations 
and  their  numerous  guests. 

Here  all  who  were  willing  and  able  to  work  placed 
themselves  under  the  direction  of  the  Superior,  lor  the 
nuns  had  more  than  they  could  well  attend  to,  with  the 
invalids  of  the  Hotel-Dieu  added  to  their  own,  as  well  as 
the  wounded,  who  now  began  to  come  in. 


On  the  last  day  of  July  we  heard  heavy  firing  towards 
Montmorenci,  beginning  about  mid-day,  and  towards  five 
o'clock  it  increased  to  a  continuous  dull  roar.  It  was 
dark  before  the  first  messenger  reached  us,  and  our  hearts 
were  lifted  by  the  tidings  he  bore.  It  was  victory,  per- 
haps complete  and  final;  the  English  had  left  hundreds 
of  dead  behind  them,  and  our  loss  was  nothing. 

Scarce  an  hour  after  this  the  wounded  began  to  arrive, 
and  being  but  a  novice  to  such  sights,  I  was  glad  when 
the  Superior,  noticing  my  pale  face,  called  Angelique  to 
bid  us  go  out  into  the  court-yard  and  get  a  breath  of 

218 


m 


.'^«it^UU»^MUiniiMMMI««.--^<.' 


I    AM    TORTURED 

fresh  air.  It  was  a  welcome  relief  to  ns  both,  and  we 
were  walking  up  and  down,  eagerly  discussing  the  news, 
when  an  officer  rode  in  at  the  gate,  supporting  a  wound- 
ed man  before  him. 

"It  is  M.  de  Maxwell  !"  cried  Angelique,  joyfully,  and 
my  impulse  was  to  turn  and  fly,  but  he  hud  already  recog- 
nised Angelique,  and  called  to  her  without  ceremony  : 

"  Mademoiselle  de  Sarennes,  will  you  and  your  com- 
panion support  this  lad  into  the  Hospital  ?  He  is  not 
seriously  wounded,  only  weak  from  the  loss  of  blood,"  and 
as  though  counting  on  our  help  without  question,  he  let 
the  boy  slip  tenderly  to  the  ground,  and  I  was  forced  to 
step  forward  with  Angelique  to  his  support. 

Bending  do'v,  from  his  horse,  he  held  the  boy  as  he 
directed  us  ho  to  aid  him,  and  then  whispered  en- 
couragingly :  •  Keep  up,  my  lad  ;  you  are  among  friends  ! 
Make  your  best  effort  before  these  ladies  !" 

He  certainly  had  no  suspicion  of  who  I  was,  for  when 
he  was  satisfied  that  we  were  equal  to  our  task  he  turned 
his  horse,  and  crying,  •"  A  thou^^and  thanks,  mesdames. 
Good-night  I"  he  rode  slowly  back  through  the  gates. 

The  lad  was  in  Highland  uniform,  and  I  spake  to  him 
in  Gaelic,  thinking  to  enhearten  him,  but  he  made  no  re- 
ply as  he  staggered  forward  between  us  towards  the  door. 

Once  within,  we  summoned  aid,  and,  as  the  lad  sank 
into  a  chair,  the  light  fell  full  on  his  upturned  face,  and 
I  saw  it  was  that  of  Christopher  Routh.  Hugh  had  gone 
far  to  redeem  himself  in  my  eyes. 


i 


CHAPTER   XXIII 


THE   HEIGHTS    OF  QUEBEC 


Vll: 


Christopher  was  at  once  examined  by  M.  Arnoux, 
the  surgeon,  who  obligingly  came  at  Angel ique's  request, 
and  before  long  he  met  us  to  report  that  his  patient  was 
in  no  danger  ;  his  wound  was  dressed,  and  a  night's  sleep 
would  go  far  to  put  him  on  his  feet  again.  He  could  be 
seen  without  even  fatigue  on  the  morrow.  I  left  word 
with  the  sister  in  charge  that  she  should  tell  him  I  was 
in  the  convent,  and  would  come  to  him  about  eleven. 

I  had  no  hesitation  in  telling  Lucy  the  news  ;  indeed, 
the  suspense  of  every  day  that  passed  was  wearing  her 
frail  body  away  so  rapidly  that,  had  not  God  seen  fit  to 
send  His  answer  to  her  prayer  at  this  very  time,  she 
would  have  passed  beyond  its  comfort.  As  it  was,  the 
news  acted  on  her  like  some  generous  wine,  strengthening 
without  exciting  her,  her  only  request  being  that  Chris- 
topher should  not  be  brought  to  her  until  he  was  quite 
able  for  the  exertion. 

When  I  entered  Chrietopher's  room  he  was  already  sit- 
ting up  in  bed,  his  eyes  fairly  dancing  with  delight. 

"Oh,  Madame  de  St.  Just!  Think  of  my  being 
brought  here,  to  find  you  and  my  moLher  ui\der  the 
same  roof,  and  that  it  was  Captain  Maxwell  wlio  brought 
me  !  He  saved  me  when  I  wfta.down  with  an  Indian  over 
me,  and  did  not  get  me  off  without  standing  some  hard 
knocks  himself.  He  carried  me  into  the  French  lines, 
and  as  soon  as  the  affair  was  over,  rode  with  me  before  him 
all  this  distance,  keeping  my  heart  up  the  time  by  say- 


THE    HEIGHTS    OF    QUEBEC 


ing,  *  Kit,  my  boy,  I  am  taking  you  to  your  mother,'  and 
I  so  near  swooning  with  this  stupid  arm  I  could  scarce  hear 
him.  You  know  I  was  with  him  in  Louisbourg,  and  when 
I  was  a  child  in  London  he  lodged  with  us,  as  he  was  in 
hiding  on  account  of  the  Scotcli  rising  and  calling  him- 
self Captain  Geraldine.  But  tell  me  of  my  mother,  ma- 
dame.     Can  I  not  see  her  now  ?" 

I  told  him  as  discreetly  as  I  could  of  poor  Lucy's  condi- 
tion, and  he  bore  up  astonishingly  well.  What  seemed 
to  trouble  him  greatly  was  the  thought  that  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  her  being  ill.  ''  Even 
though  she  was  a  prisoner  I  never  feared  she  would  be 
hardly  treated  ;  no  one  could  be  cruel  to  my  mother,  she 
is  so  gentle  !"  the  poor  lad  continued.  "  I  knew  you  were 
with  her,  and  I  never  thought  of  the  other  danger  at  all. 
I  was  so  happy  when  I  fell  into  English  hands  and  was 
allowed  to  enlist  in  Boston,  and  in  Eraser's  Highlanders, 
too,  not  in  a  Colony  regiment ;  and  when  we  found  there 
was  no  danger  of  psace  being  proclaimed,  and  that  we 
were  for  Quebec,  we  were  all  mad  with  joy  to  have 
another  crack  at  the  French.  Oh,  pardon  me,  madame  ; 
I  forgot  you  were  on  their  side,"  he  cried,  with  a  sud- 
den confusion;  "and  I  never  doubted  for  a  moment  I 
should  iind  her  here." 

The  next  day  the  surgeon  pronounced  him  out  of  all 
possible  danger,  and  added,  significantly,  "  If  his  mother 
is  to  see  him,  it  is  best  it  should  be  at  once."  Thereupon 
I  obtained  the  necessary  permission,  and  never  have  I  seen 
greater  Joy  in  a  face  than  in  Lucy's,  when  I  ushered 
Christopher  into  her  room. 

That  same  evening,  as  I  sate  beside  her,  though  she 
lay  quiet  and  composed,  I  noticed  a  grave  change  had 
come  over  her,  and  culling  one  of  the  sisters  who  had 
had  much  experience,  she  at  once  said  the  end  was 
near. 

With  the  permission  of  the  Superior  I  went  for  Chris- 

221 


I 


Si 


;i 


'I  ( 


\4\ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIE 

topher,  and  led  hiin,  white  and  awe-strtr.k,  to  the  bedside 
of  his  mother.  She  asked  that  I  would  not  leave — "it 
it  be  not  a  trouble  to  you,  madame,"  the  poor  thing 
pleaded,  pitifully — and  I  remained  beside  them. 

"Christopher,"  she  said,  with  an  effort,  "I  made  a 
promise  years  ago  that  when  this  hour  came  I  would  tell 
you  the  truth  about  yourself.  Our  name  is  not  Routh, 
but  Maxwell ;  you  are  the  son  of  the  Captain  Maxwell 
who  saved  you — and  brought  you  back  to  me.  You 
remember  him  as  the  '  Captain  Geraldine '  who  lodged 
with  us  in  London  ?  He  had  married  me  six  years  be- 
fore, when  we  were  but  little  more  than  boy  and  girl,  and 
when  you  were  born  he  was  wandering  a  shipwrecked 
man  in  Russia,  seeking  eagerly  some  means  of  return  to 
us,  though  I  was  persuaded  he  had  deserted  me.  When 
he  returned,  and  was  willing  to  acknowledge  me  as  his 
wife,  I  was  hardened  into  a  heartless  woman,  believing 
myself  separated,  by  whai  I  ignorantly  called  God's 
grace,  from  him  and  the  v»'orld  to  which  he  belonged. 
In  my  pride  I  refused  to  let  him  come  into  our  lives, 
though  he  implored  me  to  let  him  make  such  restitution 
as  was  in  his  power.  He  behaved  as  few  men  would  have 
done  ;  for  the  sa!  o  of  the  old  love,  he  bore  with  me  and 
accepted  my  conditions — that  he  would  never  mention 
our  marriage,  and  would  never  come  between  you  and  me. 
He  let  you  go  away  from  his  side  in  Louisbourg.  though 
his  heart  was  yearning  for  you  ;  because  his  honour, 
a  quality  which  I  pretended  not  to  understand,  for- 
bade him  to  forget  his  promise  to  me.  He  was  always 
good  to  me,  far  beyond  my  deserts,  and  my  hope,  now 
that  my  eyes  are  opened,  is  that  you,  Christopher,  will 
remember  my  debt  to  him. 

''Try  and  be  gentle,  my  boy.  Be  true  to  him.  He 
has  had  a  sad,  lonely  life,  but  you  may  make  it  up  to 
him  yet.  When  you  see  him,  tell  him  from  me  .  .  .  tell 
Hugh  .  .  ." — but  here  I  ^ilently  withdrew,  leaving  the 


I 


BffilHI 


m 


THE    HEIGHTS    OF    QUEBEC 

Mother  to  whisper  her  last  message  of  contrition  to  the 
boy  kneeling  beside  her  bed. 

Pitiful  as  was  poor  Lucy's  story,  I  could  gather  but 
little  comfort  from  it.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  marrying 
out  of  his  own  class  Hugh  had  committed  so  grave  a 
fault  that  whatever  followed  in  the  way  of  misunder- 
standing was  but  to  be  expected.  He  had  been  kind, 
forbearing,  larger-minded  than  she  had  known  ;  she  had 
not  even  realised  the  sense  of  honour  which  had  made 
her  a  wife  and  not  a  mistress.  It  had  gone  the  way  of  all 
mistakes,  and  produced  nothing  but  bitterness  and  re- 
gret. From  it  I  could  gather  no  excuse,  no  justification 
of  his  conduct  towards  me  ;  he  had  allowed  my  affection 
to  grow  up  and  centre  in  him  without  a  warning  I  could 
understand  of  the  heart-break  which  confronted  me,  and 
I  could  not  see  that  his  obligation  towards  her  who  had 
cast  his  love  aside  was  more  sacred  than  to  her  to  whom 
it  was  all  in  all. 

"We  laid  Lucy  to  rest  in  the  garden  of  the  Hospital — 
without  the  rites  of  the  Church,  it  is  true,  but  not 
without  both  prayers  and  tears,  and  then  took  up  the 
daily  round  of  duty  once  more. 


\H: 


Christopher,  being  no  longer  a  patient,  was  ordered 
off  to  the  town  as  a  prisoner,  but  I  sent  with  him  a  note 
to  M.  Joannes  which  secured  him  generous  treatment. 
Through  the  month  of  August  the  wounded  continued 
to  come  in,  and  though  our  troops  were  starving  as  they 
stood  behind  their  lines  of  defence,  they  were  one  and  all 
hopeful  of  the  result.  The  bombardment  from  the  Levy 
shore  continued  until  the  town  wa?  little  more  than  a 
heap  of  ruins,  and  night  after  night  the  sky  was  red  with 
the  glare  of  burning  buildings.  Part  of  the  enemy's  fleet 
had  passed  the  city  and  threatened  to  cut  off  all  supplies 
from  the  upper  parishes.  There  were  ugly  rumours,  too, 
of  the  Caiuitlians  deserting,  for  the  tidings  of  the  loss  of 

333 


I 


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If 

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II 

ill 

'1 

I 

■ ''  il 

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II 

i 

f  I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

Carillon  and  Niagara  had  gone  far  to  dishearten  them. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  had  authentic  news  of  the  desper- 
ate illness  of  the  English  general,  Wolfe,  and  even  though 
M.  de  Levis  was  forced  to  march  to  the  support  of  Mon- 
treal, the  unfaltering  courage  of  M.  de  Montcalm  so  in- 
spired our  troops  that  they  held  on  successfully,  praying 
for  relief  or  the  coming  of  winter. 

About  the  beginning  of  September  Angelique  came  to 
me  greatly  excited. 

"  Oh,  Marguerite,  Charles  is  here !  He  is  very  ill. 
Will  you  come  and  see  him  ?" 

*'  Is  he  wounded  ?" 

"No.  But  he  has  suffered  incredible  hardships  in 
Acadie,  and  he  is  ill — so  ill  that  he  cannot  be  in  his 
place  in  the  field.  Come,  he  has  just  been  asking  my 
mother  for  vou.     Come  !" 

"Impossible,  chorie;  M.  Arnoux  is  depending  on  my 
supply  of  lint  for  a  patient,"  I  replied,  and  so  escaped 
for  the  moment.  But  with  the  persistency  of  innocence 
she  returned  to  her  demand  as  we  sate  with  her  mother 
that  evening. 

"Marguerite,  Charles  has  been  asking  for  you  again 
this  afternoon.     Will  you  see  him  the  first  thing  in  the 


morning 


V" 


"  I  do  not  know,  cherie  ;  neither  your  mother  nor  the 
Superior  has  given  her  permission  as  yet,"  I  answered, 
much  troubled  at  her  insistence. 

"  Oh,  Marguerite,  this  is  ungenerous  of  you  !"  cried 
the  warm-hearted  girl.  "  Think,  how  ready  Charles  was 
to  serve  you  when  you  wished  to  go  to  Louisbourg ! 
This  is  no  time  to  stand  on  trifles." 

"  Angelique  take  care  you  are  not  ungenerous  yourself," 
said  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  much  to  mv  relief.  "  Charles 
must  not  be  childish  in  his  demands.  There  is  no  reason 
why  Marguerite  should  visit  him  until  he  is  up  and  pre- 

224 


I 


THE    HEIGHTS    OF    QUEBEC 

pared  to  receive  her  fittingly,  for  there  is  no  reason  why 
war  should  banish  every  rule  of  decorum."  And  with 
these  decided  words  the  difficulty  was  dismissed,  though 
not  at  all  to  Angelique's  satisfaction. 

At  daybreak  on  the  13th  of  September  we  were  awaken- 
ed by  the  sound  of  guns  above  the  city,  and  hastened  to 
the  attic  windows ;  but  drift  of  passing  showers  hid  the 
valley  from  us,  while  the  Heights  loomed  grey  and 
shrouded  above.  There  was  nothing  to  enlighten  us, 
and  in  company  with  our  fears  we  descended  to  wait 
uneasily  for  tidings. 

I  grew  so  anxious  and  depressed  in  the  half-lighted 
halls  that  I  could  not  remain  below,  and  returned  tow- 
ards our  room.  But  just  as  I  approached  the  door  some 
one  came  hurriedly  along  the  corridor,  and  to  my  dismay 
I  recognised  M.  de  Sareunes. 

"Stay  one  moment,  mademoiselle  ;  I  must  speak  with 
you."  His  voice  was  trembling,  and  even  in  the  strug- 
gling light  I  could  see  his  dark  face  was  drawn  and  hag- 
ga,rd,  though  his  black  eyes  burned  with  a  fiercer  light 
than  before. 

"  It  is  useless,  M.  de  Sarennes ;  I  can  hear  nothing 
you  have  to  say.  Remember  your  mother  and  sister  are 
here  within  call,  and  you  will  only  cause  them  pain  if 
you  force  me  to  summon  aid,  which  I  will  certainly 
do.     Have  some  pity  for  them  if  you  have  none  for 


me. 


)} 


''Answer  me  but  one  question.     Do  you  love  this 
Maxwell  ?" 

"  M.  de  Sarennes,  I  will  tell  you  nothing.     You  have 
no  right  to  question  me." 

''My  God,  Marguerite!  have  I  not  done  everything 
for  you  ?" 

"  You  have  done  me  every  injury  in  your  power.    You 

have  nevGi  spoken  to  me  that  you  have  not  tortured  m© 

so  I  cannot  look  on  you  without  fear  and  loathing.^ 

F  225 


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THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


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At  my  words  lie  stepped  close  to  me,  but  before  either 
could  utter  a  sound,  a  shrill  cry  came  from  above : 

"0  mon  Dieii  I  moii  Dieu  !  The  English  are  on  the 
Heights." 

Doors  were  thrown  open,  and  in  an  instant  the  corri- 
dors were  filled  with  white  faces,  and  hurrying  feet  were 
flying  towards  the  stairways. 

'•'Nonsense  !"  cried  a  reassuring  voice  when  wo  gained 
the  upper  windows.  "Those  are  our  troops  !  See,  they 
are  crossing  the  bridge  I" 

"No.  Here  I  Here!  See!  Just  opposite  us,  over 
the  edge  of  the  hill."  And  as  we  crowded  to  the  side 
whence  the  cry  came  our  hearts  sank  as  we  saw  a  little 
patch  of  red  against  the  morning  sky. 

"Bull!  They  are  only  a  handful.  See  how  our  men 
are  crossing  the  St.  Charles  !  There  I  They  are  coming 
out  of  the  St.  John's  Gate  now  !" 

"  Mes  soeurs,  we  will  descend  to  the  chapel,"  said  the 
calm  voice  of  la  m6re  de  Ste.  Claude,  and  at  her  words 
the  obedient  nuns  recovered  their  usual  air  of  quiet  and 
flocked  after  her,  as  did  many  of  the  others ;  but  An- 
g61ique  and  I  remained. 

We  could  plainly  see  our  troops  defiling  out  of  the 
town  in  a  seemingly  unending  line,  and  could  distinguish 
their  officers  riding  to  and  fro  giving  orders  ;  but  the  lit- 
tle point  of  red  remained  immovable,  and  we  could  not 
tell  whether  it  was  an  army  or  a  single  detachment. 

Regulars,  Canadians,  and  Indians  continued  to  pour 
across  the  bridge  of  boats,  and  to  cross  through  the  town 
from  the  Palais  to  the  St.  John's  Gate,  whence  they  is- 
sued, and  moved  off  towards  the  left,  hidden  from  us  by 
the  rising  ground. 

We  stood  there  hour  after  hour,  forgetful  of  fatigue 
und  hunger  in  our  anxiety.  We  could  hear  the  faint 
reports  of  musketry  and  the  dull  growl  of  cannon,  but 

am 


THE    HEIGHTS    OF    QUEBEC 


could  not  tell  whence  they  came.  Soon  we  discovered 
scattered  figures  stealing  along  under  the  shelter  of  the 
hill  towards  the  point  of  red,  and  as  they  drew  nearer 
could  distinguish  the  blue  and  grey  of  our  Canadians 
and  the  head-dresses  of  Indians.  At  length  spurts  of 
smoke  began  to  leap  from  the  bushes  all  along  the  crest 
of  the  hill  opposite  us,  extending  far  beyond  the  point 
where  the  red  had  been,  and,  from  the  sensible  increase 
in  the  firing,  we  judged  the  battle  had  begun. 

But  about  ten  o'clock  we  heard  such  a  general  dis- 
charge of  cannon  and  musketry,  and  marked  such  in- 
stantaneous movement  along  the  line  of  skirmishers,  that 
we  knew  what  we  had  taken  for  the  battle  was  but  child's 
play.  Suddenly  the  confused  noise  and  firing  were  domi- 
nated by  one  sharp  roar  like  to  the  clap  of  a  thunder- 
bolt, followed  by  a  second,  and  then  by  a  long  rolling 
fire.  To  this  succeeded  cheers,  different  from  any  we 
had  heard  before,  above  which  I  caught  the  shrill  skirl  of 
the  bagpipes,  while  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  slowly  rose 
and  drifted  to  and  fro  in  the  heavy  air. 

Out  of  this,  on  a  sudden,  burst  a  screaming  mob  of 
men  in  mad,  death-driven  disorder,  some  sweeping  tow- 
ards the  St.  John's  Gate,  while  others  plunged  down 
over  the  side  of  the  hill  to  gain  the  bridge  of  boats. 
After  them,  in  as  wild  pursuit,  came  the  enemy,  fore- 
most of  whom  were  the  Highlanders,  with  flying  tartans, 
shouting  their  slogan  as  they  leaped  and  clambered  reck- 
lessly down  the  hill-side,  slashing  at  the  fugitives  with 
their  claymores,  while  the  pipes  screamed  in  maddening 
encouragement  above. 

The  disaster  was  so  unexpected,  so  instantaneous,  that 
we  could  not  comprehend  it,  aad  stood  there  in  silent  awe 
absorbed  in  the  dreadful  tragedy  before  us. 

**0  ciel  !  Marguerite!  See,  there  is  M,  de  Max- 
well !  On  the  Cote  Ste.  Genevieve  !"  cried  Angelique, 
in  a  hoarse,  strained  voice,  pointing  as  she  spake. 

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The  C6te  Ste.  Genevieve,  a  long  and  dangerous  descent 
from  the  Heights,  beginning  near  the  town,  down  to  the 
level  on  which  the  Hospital  stood,  was  exposed  in  all  its 
length  not  only  to  the  fire  of  the  enemy  above,  but  also 
to  that  of  a  number  of  Canadians.,  who,  thoagh  driven 
down  and  across  it,  had  rallied  at  its  base  and  were  dis- 
puting the  descent  of  the  Highlanders  and  other  of  the 
English. 

Down  this  rode  Hugh.  He  was  mounted  on  a  power- 
ful black  horse  and  came  on  at  perilous  speed.  But 
the  pursuers  had  marked  him  also,  and  just  as  he 
gained  the  middle  of  the  descent  the  hill-side  above  him 
blazed  out  in  a  sweeping  volley,  and  down  he  went  on 
the  neck  of  his  horse.  An  involuntary  cry  burst  from 
us  both,  but  even  as  it  sped  he  was  erect  again,  and  with 
hat  in  hand  came  spurring  on,  waving  and  cheering  to 
the  brave  fellows  below.  In  another  moment  he  was  in 
their  midst,  where,  dismounting,  he  seemed  to  give  the 
needed  orders  for  their  guidance.  UnofRcered  and  un- 
directed, they  had  stubbornly  disputed  every  inch  of 
ground  when  all  others  had  given  way,  and  now,  under  a 
few  words  of  encouragement  from  a  gallant  man,  to  our 
amazement,  we  saw  them  actually  attempt  to  scale  the 
hill,  firing  upwards  as  they  climbed.  Thoy  were  not  regu- 
lars ;  they  made  no  pretence  to  the  science  of  war  ;  they 
had  been  despised  and  belittled  probably  by  every  officer 
in  the  service  for  their  manner  of  fighting ;  yet  now  in 
the  hour  of  need  they  alone  stood  firm  between  the  fly- 
ing army  and  destruction. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  them  steadied  in  their  advance, 
Hugh  mounted  and  rode  off  towards  another  group 
busied  in  an  attempt  to  drag  a  heavy  gun  from  some  soft 
ground  where  it  was  deeply  bogged,  and  then  on  again 
towards  the  bridge  of  boats,  the  only  way  of  escape  for 
the  defeated  troops. 

'•O  mon  Dieu  !    They  will  never  cross  I    The  bridge 

228 


'A 

c 


X. 


f 


'I' 


j 


ivl 


i 


I  : 


THE   HEIaHTS   O.   Qt,,,,^ 

18  blocked  ^**  o  '  a 

together  as  we  w.tehtdTh!e""!hM'"''  ""''  ^''  '^^-Wed 
rnsh  towards  the  narro  '  1,  "'"'':.  ^"i'l-'-g  ■»  «  mad 
*>".■«»,  with  the  exception  TthB  '"  ■"■''«<"■»  «»"■ 

Whore  the  ^flTad^sr  ,%!  t  '""'  "^  '^»  "'". 
'o  onr  dismay,  we  saw  thJ     ^  ""O"  groand  •  biif 

Pened  at  the  bridge         "'  '"'"*  '"^''  '^'^ter  had  hap.' 

"  O  nion  Dien  '    Thojr 
wmy  will  be  lost !"    BntHfJ*  ""'""^  "  '     '^''e  whole 
hand  than  onr  nseles!  oril/'^r  """■"  "^"'"^  "'^  a 
fw  Hngh  with  other  omeers'  stn-J, "','''"  ''"'P'"'"^  we 
«nd  sword  in  hand,  beaT  blck    h^f '"  """''"S''  'he  mob, 
«nt.I  they  gained  the  head  ofti «  h  'T^-^'rieken  erowd 
Konssdlon  moved  into  posil'     ^'1''^'''  •""">  "'e  Royal 
columns  took  f„,.„  and  „1    ^'    "''  '°°"  "">  «traggli„„ 
shelter  of  the  hornwork  "    '^  ""'"'^  ^^^  ''oyonT;,;! 

ihe  pursnit  was  checked  «.  t 
the  nnaided  efforts  of  the  c!„:J^    ^  "'  "'^  "onld  see,  by 
reformed,  and  slowly  wtthdl      "I'  ""^  ^""''^^  halted 
recrossed  the  St.  Charts    Ind'''? J"''  "'  °"^  t'oops 

.   '''''^re  was  nothing  more  f„^  n   . 

'ng  more  to  hope,  and  broken  iK/'"'  P''>'m  noth- 

wear.ly  descended  the  staTrt,        ''"''^  *""  '"  «  "nt  wo 

corridors  in  sil,ncelnmZZV>    ''''^'"''''  '''"  '""K 
the  gronnd-floor.  ^  """''"">  'he  main  hall  on 

-p.ns'^^e^dr„;;f:;,':^,t  b'^T  -'''"^'  -  -0 

three  orders,  mingled  with  tlf^  ^  .''^  "'"  """«  of  the 
f  nerons  hospitalftylrid';^^"  «  '"  'o  had  shared  the  r 
%htn>g  days  had  long  p '  s  ",  "  «<-'""eme„   whose 

P^|ent  and  resigned' r'inT;:;;;'^,^-""--" 
«""  young  g.rls  and  children!  Se  and  an"  '"^'"•"'• 

m     ^      ^  »n»ioas-ejred  j 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


< 


t  ■ 


while  in  the  circle  of  light  beneath  the  great  black  cru- 
cifix on  the  white  wall  stood  the  commanding  figure  of 
la  mt're  de  Ste.  Claude,  and  with  her  la  mere  de  Ste. 
Ilcl6ne  of  the  Hotel-Dieu,  and  la  m6re  de  la  Nativite  of 
the  Ursulines. 

All  were  listening  with  breathless  attention  to  the 
words  that  fell  from  the  venerable  Bishop  of  Quebec, 
Monseigiiieur  de  Pontbriand,  whose  quiet  bearing  and 
measured  tones  carried  assurance  to  many  a  fainting 
heart. 

"  My  children,"  he  was  saying,  as  we  entered,  **  do  not 
forget,  in  our  day  of  disaster,  that  we  are  not  left  help- 
less. Lot  lis  for  our  comfort  say  together  those  words, 
whieli  wo  learned  to  lisp  as  children,  but  perhaps  only  to 
understand  to-night."  And,  as  he  raised  his  hand,  the 
people  knelt,  and  with  voices  that  gained  confidence  as 
the  familiar  words  foil  from  his  lips,  they  repea  ed  the 
**  Qui  habitat"  in  unison:  *' He  that  d.velleth  in  the 
secret  place  of  the  Most  High  shall  abide  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Almighty." 

The  common  danger,  the  common  worship,  drew  us 
together.  Each  succeeding  verse,  with  its  divine  assur- 
ance of  safety  and  protection,  brought  to  us  a  quiet  and 
a  confidence  which  renewed  our  strength. 

But  even  as  all  hearts  were  lifted  there  came  a  com- 
manding knock  at  the  outer  door  opposite  the  chapel, 
which  was  immediately  repeated,  and  la  mere  Ste.  Claude 
signed  it  should  be  opened. 

Angelique  and  I,  being  at  the  threshold  of  the  hall, 
hastened  to  obey,  and  found  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  a 
general  otlicer,  behind  whom  was  a  detachment  of  soldiers 
in  Highland  uniform.  The  officer  stepped  into  the  hall 
as  one  who  takes  possession,  and  demanded  the  Superior, 
in  accurate  French. 

She  came  forward  followed  by  the  principal  nuns  and 

ladies. 

280 


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I 


THE    HEIGHTS   OF   QUEBEC 

**  Have  no  fear,  mesdames,"  he  said,  bowing  low  with 
mnch  elegance  of  manner  ;  "  I  am  General  Townshend. 
Yon  will  suffer  no  harm ;  but  we  mnst  take  possession 
of  your  convent,  for  yonr  protection  as  well  as  our  own." 

*•  You  are  victors,  monsieur,  and  can  command,"  she 
said,  bitterly. 

*•  We  are  victors,  madame,"he  returned,  gravely,  "but 
we  have  bought  our  honours  dearly.  Our  general  lies 
dead  on  the  plain  above." 

"C'est  sur  le  champ  d'honneur,  monsieur,"  she  in- 
stantly responded,  in  a  tone  of  much  feeling. 

**A  thousand  thanks  for  your  sympathy,  madame;  we 
will  use  every  diligence  to  preserve  it.  Captain  Nairn 
will  take  charge  here,  and  will  give  yon  assurance  of 
safety  and  protection  from  insult.  In  return,  you  will 
kindly  offer  such  shelter  to  the  wounded  as  is  possible, 
and  furnish  him  with  every  information  as  to  the  number 
of  rooms  available,  for  I  must  ask  for  all  accommodation 
in  your  power." 

He  introduced  Captain  Nairn  and  withdrew  at  once, 
followed  by  the  assurances  of  the  Superior  that  every- 
thing would  be  done  for  the  comfort  of  the  wcunded. 

It  was  with  a  curious  feeling  that  I  looked  on  my 
brother,  for  I  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  he,  though  I 
had  not  seen  him  since  we  were  children.  Despite  the 
disorder  of  his  dress  and  his  evident  fatigue,  he  was  a 
handsome  man,  though  not  much  taller  than  myself. 
His  address  was  natural  and  easy,  and  certainly  his 
French  was  perfect ;  I  had  but  a  moment  to  gather  this, 
for  we  were  at  once  dismissed  from  our  attendance  by 
the  Superior,  who  remained  alone  to  arrange  with  our 
new  masters. 

'*0,  ciel !  Marguerite!  is  that  your  brother?"  whis- 
pered Angeliqne,  excitedly. 

"  Yes,  cherie,  I   have   no  doubt  it  is,"  I  answered, 

sadly. 

331 


n 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

I  should  not  sigh  over  such  a  misfortune,"  she  cried, 
gayly.  "  You  are  cold-blooded  creatures,  you  Scotch  ! 
Why  I  should  have  been  weeping  on  his  neck  long  ago, 
no  nwtter  what  had  happened!    He  has  eyes  like  yours." 

282 


CHAPTER    XXIV 


RECONCILIATION 


We  found  Mme.  de  Sarennes  awaiting  us  in  her  room, 
with  a  generous  bouillon  warming  over  a  lamp.  '*  Hun- 
ger and  faintness  will  not  add  to  your  courage,  my  daugh- 
ters ;  sit  down  and  eat.  We  shall  have  need  of  all  our 
strength  for  the  morrow,"  she  said,  cheerfully.  We  were 
eager  to  discuss  the  events  of  the  day,  but  she  would  not 
listen  to  a  word.  **  You  must  be  good  soldiers  now  and 
obey  orders ;  eat  first,  and  then  to  bed.  Angelique,  do 
you  set  an  example  and  go  at  once." 

"La  ceremonie  faite,  chacun  s'en  fut  coucher,"  re- 
peated Angelique,  sleepily,  as  she  kissed  us  and  went. 
Then  I  turned  to  her  mother. 

"  Mme.  de  Sarennes,  I  am  in  a  difficulty.  May  I  ask 
your  help  ?" 

"  Marguerite,  ma  ch6rie,  I  am  afraid  I  am  thought  a 
stern  woman ;  but  you  know  how  dear  those  I  love  are 
to  me,  and  I  have  learned  to  love  you.  You  may  speak 
to  me  as  you  would  have  spoken  to  your  own  mother," 
she  said,  with  a  tenderness  that  went  to  my  heart. 

I  arose  and  seated  myself  beside  her,  and  with  my  hand 
in  hers  I  told  her  of  my  home,  of  my  life  with  Lady  Jane, 
and  my  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  Prince ;  of  my  pride 
in  my  only  brother,  and  of  what  I  considered  his  deser- 
tion, which  led  to  my  girlish  renunciation  and  my  es- 
trangement from  him.  **  He  is  the  Captain  Nairn  who 
came  with  General  Townshend  to-night.     What  shall  I 

do,  madame  ?" 

288 


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THE   SPAN   0'   LIFE 

"  Yoa  must  go  to  him  on  the  morrow,  my  child,  with- 
out hesitation.  Sach  a  tie  is  too  sacred  to  be  thrown 
away  lightly."  Here  she  paused,  and  laying  her  hand  on 
my  arm,  said,  in  tones  of  the  deepest  feeling,  "Mar- 
guerite, when  you  are  an  old  woman  like  me,  I  pray  you 
may  never  have  to  look  back  with  regret  on  an  oppor- 
tunity for  reconciliation  cast  aside."  She  spake  with 
such  intense  emotion  that  I  could  not  doubt  I  had  un- 
wittingly stirred  some  painful  memory  of  her  past,  but 
in  a  moment  she  recovered,  and  said,  tenderly :  *'  Re- 
member, you  both  lay  on  the  same  breast ;  you  looked 
into  the  same  mother's  eyes.  Think  of  the  pain  it  would 
cause  her  to  know  that  there  is  anything  in  her  chil- 
dren's hearts  towards  each  other,  save  the  love  with  which 
she  filled  them.  But  I  need  not  say  more ;  I  see  your 
intent  in  your  face.  Remember,  too,  we  need  all  the  in- 
terest we  can  command  with  our  new  guests.  Now  get 
some  rest,  my  child ;  you  are  worn  out." 

When  I  awakened  in  the  morning  I  found  the  whole 
community  astir,  for  all  night  long  the  wounded  had  been 
brought  in,  until  every  bed  and  corner  was  occupied,  and 
even  the  barns,  sheds,  and  outhouses  were  filled  to  over- 
flowing. 

French  and  English  lay  side  by  side,  helpless  and  pa- 
tient. As  I  crossed  the  hall  I  noticed  a  big  Highland 
sergeant  lying  on  a  stretcher,  waiting  until  some  place 
was  found  for  him,  with  the  sweat  standing  in  great 
beads  on  his  forehead.  He  muttered  some  kind  of  a 
prayer  in  Gaelic  as  I  passed,  and  at  the  sound  of  the 
once  familiar  tongue  I  stopped,  and,  bending  over  him, 
wiped  away  the  perspiration,  and  spake  to  liim  in  his  own 
language.  He  stared  at  me  in  the  utmost  astonishment, 
and  then  swore  a  great  oath,  and  the  tears  filled  his 
eyes. 

I  at  last  found  a  soldier  who  was  not  on  duty,  and  by 

234 


RECONCILIATION 


him  sent  a  message  to  Captain  Nairn  that  a  lady  desired 
speech  with  him  when  he  was  at  liberty. 

He  returned  with  word  that  the  Captain  fixed  eleven 
o'clock,  and  at  that  hour  I  awaited  in  the  parlour.  As  I 
waited  I  wondered  that  I  had  ever  made  any  question  of 
meeting  him  ;  I  could  even  see  that  his  choice  of  life  had 
its  defence,  from  a  man's  point  of  view.  A  soldier  is  first 
of  all  a  soldier,  and  waiting  the  heaviest  of  his  duties  ; 
though  he  is  ready  to  suffer  incredibly  for  his  cause  when 
it  is  active,  it  is  the  women  who  keep  the  personal  attach- 
ments alive  through  the  weary  days  when  everything  but 
hope  is  dead. 

I  spake  at  once  on  his  entrance. 

**  Archie,  I  am  your  sister  Margaret." 

"My  dearest  Peggy  1"  was  all  he  said,  but  he  caught 
me  in  his  strong  arms  and  nearly  crushed  the  breath  out 
of  me.  He  petted  and  fondled  me,  calling  me  by  every 
dear  name  of  childhood,  until  my  heart  was  nigh  to  burst- 
ing with  this  treasure  of  love  lavished  upon  me  when  I 
least  expected  it. 

I  was  brought  back  to  the  present  when  he  questioned 
me  on  the  reason  of  my  being  in  Canada,  and  though  it 
cost  me  a  bitter  struggle  with  my  pride,  I  told  him  the 
whole  story  of  my  folly.  I  could  not  spare  myself  when 
he  took  me  so  on  trust. 

**  And  you  say  that  Maxwell  was  married  all  this  time  ?" 
he  asked,  sternly. 

"  Yes,  but—" 

"There  are  no  'buts'  \"  he  interrupted,  fiercely.  " I 
will  kill  him  on  sight !" 

"Archie,  my  brother,  think  what  you  say  !  I  do  not 
know  that  he  deceived  me,  and  I  do  know  I  deceived  my- 
self." 

"  I  can't  help  that !  If  he  had  not  been  there,  you 
never  wc  ild  have  made  the  mistake.  The  only  pity  is 
I  was  not  on  the  ground  at  the  time." 

285 


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tt 


1 


I 


li 


But,  Archie,  think  of  me.  Think  what  an  open 
scandal  will  mean.  No  one  but  you  and  me,  and  one 
other,"  I  added — remembering  le  p6re  Jean — '*  knows 
anything  of  this  now." 

"  And  what  do  we  care  about  other  people,  Peggy  ? 
We  Nairns  are  not  used  to  asking  leave  for  our  actions  ; 
and  so  long  as  you  yourself  are  not  ashamed,  I  do  not  give 
a  rotten  nut  for  the  rest  of  the  world.  It  is  no  question 
of  the  personal  feeling  at  all ;  it  is  the  principle  I  I  have 
no  personal  quarrel  with  Maxwell ;  on  the  contrary,  I  like 
him.  He  was  a  brother  to  me  in  Louisbourg ;  but,  thank 
God !  I  can  sink  my  likings  and  dislikings,  when  it  comes 
to  a  case  such  as  this.  No,  no,  Peggy  ;  you'd  best  leave 
things  in  my  hands." 

"No,  Archie,  I  will  not !  There  has  been  heart-break 
and  misery  enough  over  this  as  it  is,  without  adding  more." 

*'But  this  will  wipe  it  all  out.  Cannot  you  under- 
stand ?"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  impatience. 

*' Archie,  cannot  you  understand  that,  however  clear- 
ly I  regret  my  own  folly,  I  cannot  in  a  moment  stamp  out 
the  feeling  in  which  1  have  lived  all  these  years  ?" 

**  You  don't  tell  me  you  care  for  the  fellow  yet,  Peg- 
gy ?"  he  cried,  in  a  tone  of  genuine  astonishment. 

"1  am  afraid  I  do." 

**  God  bless  my  soul !    That  is  beyond  me." 

"  You  are  not  a  woman,  Archie." 

**  No,  thunk  God  I  am  not,"  he  answered,  without  the 
vestige  of  a  smile.  **  Of  all  the  wearisome  things  in  the 
world,  1  can  imagine  nothing  worse  than  being  a  woman." 

**  And  yet  there  are  a  good  many  who  have  to  put  up 
with  this  weariness." 

**  The  Lord  help  them  !  But  we  must  not  fall  to  quar- 
relling at  our  first  meeting ;  that  would  be  altogether  too 
much  like  boy  and  girl  again.  Peggy,  do  you  remember 
how  we  used  to  fight  over  the  plovers'  nests  ?"  and  he 
laughed  merrily  at  the  thought.     "  Don't  be  put  out  by 

286 


RECONCILIATION 


\ 


a  little  thing  like  this.  I'll  not  kill  the  gentleman  be- 
hind a  hedge  or  in  the  dark ;  he  shall  have  nothing  to 
complain  of,  rest  assured.  But  I  have  sad  news  for  your 
friends,  Margaret.  M.  de  Montcalm  died  at  daybreak 
this  morning." 

*'0h,  Archie!  We  did  not  even  know  that  he  was 
wounded." 

**  Nor  did  we  until  late  last  night,  for  he  was  seen  on 
his  horse  during  the  retreat.     He  was  a  fine  soldier." 

'*  He  was  more  than  that,  Archie.  He  was  a  man  of 
honour  and  the  soul  of  his  army — and  he  was  very  good 
to  me,"  I  sobbed,  breaking  down  at  the  remembrance  of 
his  chivalrous  protection. 

To  my  surprise,  Archie  put  his  arm  about  me.  "  Cry 
on,  Peggy,  my  lamb,"  he  said,  in  the  soft  endearment 
of  the  Gaelic.  And  the  soldier  who  had  so  readily  de- 
cided on  the  death  of  a  man  a  moment  since,  now  melt- 
ed at  the  sight  of  a  woman's  grief,  and  offered  her  that 
best  of  all  consolation,  sympathy.  Nothing  else  could 
so  quickly  have  revealed  to  me  the  wrong  I  had  been 
guilty  of  in  holding  aloof  from  this  strong  affection  that 
had  held  fast  in  simple,  unwavering  loyalty  to  the  love  of 
childhood.  To  him  I  had  always  remained  the  Peggy 
of  the  old  home  ;  in  his  generous  heart  the  thought  of 
any  necessity  for  reconciliation  had  no  place,  for  he  held 
himself  as  the  head  of  the  family,  from  whom  protec- 
tion for  the  weaker  must  necessarily  flow. 

*'  By-the-way,  Peggy,"  he  said,  suddenly,  **  it  was  you, 
no  doubt,  who  spake  to  one  of  my  men  in  Gaelic  this 
morning.  That  was  Neil,  son  of  Angus  Dubh,  the  tacks- 
man on  the  old  place,  one  of  my  best  sergeants.  You  did 
as  much  for  him  as  the  surgeon,  and  when  I  tell  him  who 
you  are  he  will  think  you  an  angel  from  heaven.  Come 
when  yon  can  and  say  a  word  to  our  poor  fellows ;  they 
are  wearying  for  home  like  children,  now  they  are  past 
fighting  for  a  bit." 

S87 


il 


t  ■  i 


THE    SPAN   O'   LIFE 


Days  of  unceasing  work  now  followed  for  all  who 
would  assist  in  nursing  and  the  innumerable  little  duties 
necessitated  by  the  presence  of  so  large  a  body  of  in- 
valids, and,  to  their  honour,  even  the  most  frivolous 
of  the  women  took  their  share  uncomplainingly,  mak- 
ing no  distinction  between  friend  and  foe.  The  most 
conflicting  rumours  reached  us  as  to  the  movements 
of  our  army,  and  of  the  intentions  of  M.  de  Ramesay, 
governor  of  the  city,  but  we  fortunately  had  little 
leisure  for  speculation,  and  our  doubts  were  ended  by 
the  formal  capitulation,  on  the  eighteenth  of  the 
month. 

After  the  troops  had  taken  possession  and  quiet  was 
restored,  permission  was  given  to  us  to  enter  the  town, 
should  we  so  desire.  It  must  have  been  a  welcome  re- 
lief to  la  mere  de  Ste.  Claude  when  her  numerous  guests 
took  their  departure.  The  nuns  of  the  Hotel-Dieu  and 
the  Ursulines  returned  to  their  respective  convents,  and 
in  that  of  the  latter  Mme.  de  Sarennes  secured  rooms 
for  the  winter. 

It  was  pitiful  to  see  the  condition  of  the  town,  for  the 
destruction  by  the  bombardment  had  been  almost  com- 
plete. The  Lower  Town  no  longer  existed,  and  scarce 
a  building  remained  along  the  front  of  the  Upper.  An- 
gelique  and  I  wandered  towards  the  familiar  rue  du 
Parloir,  to  find  but  a  line  of  crumbling  walls,  blackened 
and  roofless  ;  before  it  our  little  isle  of  houses,  as  well 
as  the  Bishop's  Palace,  lay  a  mass  of  ruin,  and  behind  it 
stood  the  wrecked  Cathedral.  Every  building  that 
could  serve  as  a  mark  had  suffered  in  some  measure, 
and  the  chapel  of  our  convent  was  the  only  sacred  place 
left  in  this  city  of  churches  where  worship  could  be  cel- 
ebrated. Here  mass  and  vespers  alternated  with  the 
services  of  the  Episcopalian  and  Presbyterian  divines, 
and  I  am  certain  none  suffered  from  the  near  fellowship 
of  the  other. 

288 


RECONCILIATION 


A  detachment  of  Archie's  regiment,  the  Fraser  High- 
landers, was  quartered  on  us  for  the  winter,  and  with 
them  the  community  shared  their  diminislied  liospital- 
ity;  they,  in  turn,  lent  us  their  services  in  collecting 
firewood  and  in  drawing  water,  and  it  was  surprising  to 
mark  the  good-will  that  was  shown  on  both  sides.  Not 
only  were  they  granted  full  permission  to  smoke  in  the 
quarters  assigned  to  them,  but  the  nuns,  taking  com- 
passion on  their  unsuitable,  and,  in  their  eyes,  almost 
indecent,  dress,  fell  to  work  at  knitting  for  them  long 
stockings  of  the  heaviest  wool,  which  occasioned  loud 
laughter  and  much  sly  jesting  among  the  men,  and  on 
our  side  Angelique  provoked  some  of  the  younger  nuns 
to  such  merriment  by  her  sallies  on  the  subject  that 
they  thereby  incurred  the  disapprobation  of  their  more 
serious-minded  elders. 

For  this  attention  General  Murray  sent  to  the  Supe- 
rior a  most  gracious  acknowledgment  of  his  gratitude 
towards  the  community,  but  it  remained  for  the  men 
themselves  to  cap  the  climax. 

Every  morning  it  was  the  practice  of  the  Superior  to 
make  a  round  of  the  convent,  including  those  portions 
set  apart  for  the  Highlanders,  and  on  this  duty  I  was  in 
the  habit  of  accompanying  her,  as  the  men  took  a  great 
pleasure  in  my  Gaelic  ;  and  it  was  an  acceptable  service 
to  me  to  cultivate  their  good-will  towards  the  commu- 
nity by  this  simple  favour.  I  knew  many  of  them  ])y 
name,  and  indeed  some  of  them  could  claim  kinship 
with  me,  notably  Neil,  the  sergeant,  whom  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  a  fine  specimen  of  our  people,  stand- 
ing well  over  six  feet  in  his  buckled  shoes. 

One  morning,  as  we  entered  the  hall  set  aside  for  the 
men,  we  heard  a  sharp  command  from  the  sergeant,  and 
to  our  surprise  we  found  the  men  not  only  drawn  up  in 
line  to  meet  us — which  was  a  voluntary  mark  of  respect 
they  paid  the  Superior — but  now,  there  stood  every  man 

289 


I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


F  I 


I 


in  full  dress,  with  cocked  and  feathered  bonnet  on  his 
head,  claymore  by  his  side,  and  firelock  in  his  hand,  and 
every  pair  of  sturdy  legs  encased  in  the  long  grey  stock- 
ings knitted  by  the  nuns. 

The  sergeant  gravely  stepped  forward,  and,  saluting 
the  Superior,  addressed  her  in  his  most  correct  English  : 

"Reverend  madam,  I  am  put  forward  on  account  of 
my  rank,  and  not  for  my  poor  abilities,  to  thank  the 
ladies  who  would  think  so  much  of  us  poor  fellows  as  to 
be  doing  us  this  kindness  this  day.  As  long  as  we  live, 
yes,  and  long  after  we  are  dead,  moreover,  you  may  be 
sure  that  Eraser's  will  always  remember  this  -,  and  when 
we  will  be  telling  even  to  our  grandchildren  of  Quebec 
and  what  we  did  there,  we  will  not  forget  to  speak  of 
your  name  and  of  the  names  of  the  ladies  under  your 
command.  And,  madam,  our  solemn  hope  is  that  you 
will  never  have  more  cause  to  blush  at  our  bare  knees, 
saving  your  presence,  than  we  will  have  to  blush  at  your 
kindness,  madam." 

Then  turning  quickly  to  me,  he  whispered,  in  Gaelic  : 
"  Speak  to  her,  Miss  Margaret,  and  tell  her  what  we 
would  say.  It  is  God's  own  truth  I  am  speaking  when  I 
say  that  we  are  thankful,  even  though  some  will  be  won- 
dering what  put  such  a  notion  into  the  poor  ladies'  heads." 
Whereupon  he  wheeled  about  and  roared  out  his  command 
to  the  men,  as  if  to  check  the  grin  that  was  spreading  over 
his  own  honest  face  from  appearing  on  p  ly  other.  There 
was  an  instantaneous  movement  at  his  c-jmmand,  and  the 
Superior  received  the  full  honours  of  a  grand  salute. 

She  was  greatly  pleased,  as  indeed  slie  might  be,  for 
the  poor  fellows  had  shown  their  gratitude  in  the  most 
honourable  fashion  they  knew,  and  she  begged  me  to  re- 
turn her  thanks  and  the  assurances  of  her  interest  in 
them  all,  which  I  did  in  terms  that,  however  they  might 
have  violated  her  ideas  of  rhetoric,  were  best  understood 
by  the  men  before  me  : 

240 


T 


RECONCILIATION 

**  Neil,  son  of  Angns,  remember,"  I  concladed,  "and 
remember,  too,  every  one  who  hears  mo,  that  though 
these  good  sisters  do  not  understand  us  nor  our  ways, 
they  have  knitted  their  hearts'  Jiindness  into  every  stitch 
that  has  gone  into  those  stockings,  and  there  is  not  a 
man  of  you  who  has  a  mother,  or  a  sister,  or  a  wife,  at 
home,  who,  if  she  knew  what  had  been  done  for  you  this 
day,  but  would  be  down  on  her  knees  praying  for  these 
good  women.  In  the  mean  time,  see  you  don't  forget  to 
do  it  yourselves  !" 

When  I  finished  they  were  nearer  crying  than  saluting, 
and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  was  far  from  it  myself;  for,  as 
I  spake,  the  once  familiar  hills  and  glens,  the  humble 
dwellings,  the  quiet-faced  women,  the  yellow-haired  chil- 
dren, all  that  meant  home  to  these  brave  fellows,  came 
before  me  like  in  a  dream,  and  I  found  myself  longing 
for  something  I  thought  I  had  parted  with  forever. 

The  winter  proved  unusually  severe,  and  the  suffering 
of  the  troops  and  the  few  people  of  condition  who  re- 
mained was  excessive,  but  there  was  no  disorder  to  speak 
of,  and  the  hardships  were  borne  uncomplainingly.  From 
time  to  time  we  had  news  of  our  army  encamped  on  the 
Jacques  Cartier,  not  only  by  the  legitimate  channel  of 
the  foraging  and  reconnoitring  parties,  but  even  by  means 
of  some  who  carried  on  a  business  of  trafficking  between 
the  two  camps,  the  greed  of  gain  triumphing  over  war 
and  famine,  and  even  over  ordinary  patriotism.  It  was 
reported  that  M.  de  Levis  had  said  he  would  eat  his 
Christmas  dinner  in  Quebec  under  his  own  flag ;  but  he 
was  not  given  to  such  empty  boasts,  that  I  had  ever 
heard,  and  the  day  passed  unmarked  for  us  save  by  the 
services  in  our  chapel. 

Towards  the  end  of  January,  Archie  came  to  me  with 
a  letter.  "There,  Peggy,  this,  I  take  it,  should  go  'uto 
your  hands,  as  it  is  addressed  to  your  care.  It  id  fortu- 
q  241 


! 


THE    SPAN    0'   LIFE 

nate  that  Maxwell  governs  himself  like  a  gentleman  in 
some  things,  for  if  he  had  attempted  to  send  his  letter 
by  any  nnderhund  means  it  might  have  placed  yon  in  an 
unpleasant  position,  and  even  exposed  me  to  suspicion. 
Listen  to  this — 1  wish  I  could  write  like  the  fellow  : 


(t 


I     :*• 


"  '  Camp  on  the  Jacques  Cartibr, 
22  Jrt/i'y,  1760. 
Sra, —  I  have  the  honour  to  be  known  to  your  Excellency's 
brother,  Lord  Elibarik,  and  though  Fate  had  thrown  me  on  the 
side  opposed  to  your  command,  I  venture  to  beg  your  courtesy  in 
remitting  the  enclosed  letter  to  the  care  of  Mme.  de  St.  Just,  at 
present  in  your  lines.    1  have  left  it  unsealed,  should  you  deem  it 
your  duty  to  peruse  it,  but  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  it  con- 
tains nothing  but  the  most  private  matters  affecting  one  in  whom 
Mme.  de  St.  Just  is  interested.    Should  your  regulations,  however, 
forbid  such  a  favour,  I  beg  that  you  will  burn  it  yourself,  and  I  will 
none  the  less  hold  myself  to  be, 
Sir, 
Your  very  obliged  and  humble  servant, 

Hugh  Maxwell  of  Eirkconnel. 

To  the  Hon'blb  James  Murray, 
Commanding  in  Quebec.' 

'*  I  give  you  my  word,  Peggy,  the  general  would  allow 
such  a  letter  to  pass  did  it  contain  all  tne  treason  between 
here  and  Mozambique.  He  bids  me  give  it  you  with  his 
compliments,  and  assure  you  that  not  only  is  it  unread, 
but  that  should  yon  wish  to  answer  it  under  the  same 
restriction  as  to  news,  he  will  enclose  your  reply  the  first 
time  he  has  occasion  to  communicate  with  the  French 
general." 

The  letter  was  addressed  to  "  Mistress  Lucy  Routh,  in 
the  care  of  Mme.  de  St.  Just,"  and  much  as  I  shrank 
from  opening  it,  I  did  so,  as  it  might  contain  matters 
which  concerned  their  son.  And  so  it  proved.  The  let- 
ter read : 

242 


KECONCILIATION 


m 

;ter 

an 

on. 


"  32  Jan'y,  1760. 

Dear  Luct,— I  send  this,  trusting  to  the  courtesy  of  General 
Murray  that  it  may  reach  your  hands  safely.  I  was  so  suddenly 
called  away  that  there  was  much  left  unsaid  when  we  parted,  and 
there  has  been  no  time  for  personal  matters  since.  In  the  event  of 
anything  happening  to  me,  I  wish  you  to  impress  on  Christopher 
that  Mr.  Drummond,  the  banker  of  Charing  Cross,  holds  in  trust  a 
small  pum  deposited  there  for  me  by  my  cousin,  the  late  Lady  Jane 
DrummoDd.  I  have  placed  my  will  in  the  hands  of  M.  de  Vau- 
dreuil,  and  whichever  way  things  fall  out,  this  will  serve  as  a  re- 
ceipt, and  insure  its  delivery.  I  would  be  glad  to  know  of  your 
well-being.  Hugh  Maxwell." 


I  sent  for  Christopher,  who  was  not  with  us  bnt  sta- 
tioned at  the  General  Hospital  with  others  of  his  regi- 
ment, and  made  known  the  matter  to  him,  and  through 
the  general  he  sent  to  his  father  his  acknowledgments 
and  the  news  of  Lucy's  death. 

I  was  pleased  at  the  consideration  of  which  the  letter 
was  proof,  and  it  was  a  satisfaction  to  hear  Archie's  ac- 
knowledgment of  Hugh's  charm ;  but  beyond  this  the 
letter  awoke  in  me  no  further  feeling,  and  I  was  sur- 
prised to  find  I  could  look  at  his  writing  and  read  his 
words  with  so  little  emotion.  The  truth  is,  I  war  living 
in  a  new  world  ;  the  discovery  of  my  brother's  love,  the 
revelation  of  Mme.  de  Sarennes's  affection  towards  me, 
had  gone  far  to  fill  the  hunger  and  emptiness  of  my  life, 
and  the  old  spell  which  had  so  long  dominated  every 
thought  and  aspiration  was  no  longer  paramount.  Then, 
too,  the  long  strain  of  feverish  hope  and  unrest,  the  dis- 
appointments and  dangers,  through  which  I  had  passed, 
had  rendered  me  peculiarly  sensible  to  the  charm  of  the 
quiet  convent  life  by  which  I  was  surrounded.  Therein 
I  found  work  into  which  I  threw  myself  with  ardour,  and 
was  enoonraged  by  the  Superior  towards  that  way  of 
peace  upon  which  the  convent  doors  gave  entrance. 
Could  I  once  determine  to  cut  myself  free  from  the  uu- 

243 


I* 

1*     \ 


It 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

rest  and  struggle  of  the  world,  I  felt  that  before  me 
opened  a  life  of  nsef alness  which  promised  amends  for  all 
suffering  and  atonement  for  all  error.  My  life  had  so 
far  been  lived  for  myself  alone,  and  I  saw  about  me 
women  who  had  attained  happiness  through  a  complete 
sacrifice  of  self.  Gould  I  only  be  sure  I  had  the  strength, 
was  not  the  same  reward  held  out  to  me  ? 

244 


"  \: 


CHAPTER  XXV 


A     FORLORN    HOPE 


Absorbed  though  I  was  in  my  work,  I  conld  not  but 
mark  what  was  passing  between  Ang^lique  and  Archie — 
how  unconsciously  my  single-hearted  brother  was  follow- 
ing her  in  that  path  in  which  the  feeblest  maid  can  lead 
the  strongest  of  his  sex. 

Her  imagination  had  been  fired  by  the  romance  of  his 
finding  me,  and  the  story  of  his  early  adventures  found 
in  her  a  skilful  listener,  who  could  extract  every  detail 
from  his  somewhat  unwilling  lips.  His  endeavours  to 
catch  her  nimble  wit  as  it  flew,  and  the  expression  of 
awakening  wonder  on  his  face  when  he  suspected  her  of 
nonsense,  would  many  a  time  send  us  into  peals  of  laugh- 
ter. Even  Mme.  de  Sarennes  was  interested,  though  she 
frankly  professed  nothing  beyond  an  armed  neutrality 
towards  our  hosts. 

So  the  winter  dragged  on.  There  was  much  suffering 
among  the  people,  much  anxiety  and  constant  alarms 
for  those  in  command  ;  but  each  heart  loved  or  hoped, 
waited  or  wearied,  as  in  time  of  peace,  and  every  one 
looked  forward  with  impatience  or  anxiety  towards  the 
coming  of  spring,  which  would  bring  the  denouement. 


By  April  everything  was  astir  once  more.  The  famil- 
iar intercourse  of  the  long  winter  was  interrupted,  offi- 
cers and  men  went  about  their  duties  so  earnestly  we 
could  not  but  feel  that  all  relations  were  suspended  until 
the  result  should  be  determined.     Soon  news  came  of 

245 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

the  movements  of  our  army  about  Montreal  and  else- 
where, and  the  English  garrison  was  marched  out  for 
daily  exercise  and  duty  on  the  plains,  and  as  far  as  Ste. 
Foye. 

At  length  it  was  clear  that  some  movement  was  im- 
minent. Orders  were  issued  that  the  inhabitants  were 
to  leave  the  city — that  is,  all  the  common  people — and 
word  was  sent  to  the  Ursulines  and  the  other  communi- 
ties that  they  were  free  to  leave,  did  they  so  choose,  other- 
wise tliey  must  remain  through  the  siege,  should  the  city 
be  invested,  and  must  share  the  fortunes  of  the  garrison. 
La  m6re  de  la  Nativity,  our  Superior,  decided  at  once 
that  her  community  should  remain,  and  Mme.  de  Sa- 
rennes  said  the  same  for  our  little  party. 

Angelique  and  I  stood  in  la  rue  St.  Jean,  and  our 
hearts  were  stirred  by  the  wailings  and  lamentations  of 
the  people  leaving  the  town  in  long  procession. 

**  Courage  !"  cried  Angelique,  to  a  despairing  woman. 
"  We  will  welcome  you  all  back  again.  You  will  come 
in  with  our  army  V 


v> 


"Malbrook  s'en  va-t-en  guerre 
Ne  salt  quand  reviendra," 


trolled  out  a  In  sty  fellow,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Tais-toi,  v'limeux  \"  cried  the  woman,  angrily. 

"II  revlendra-z  3,  F^ues, 
Ou  a  la  Trinite," 


he  continued,  unconcernedly,  and  the  crowd  catching  at 
his  humour,  joined  in  the  lilting  refrain,  and  involun- 
tarily quickened  their  steps  to  the  '*  mironton,  ton, 
taine"  of  the  old  war  song,  at  which  Angelique  chipped 
her  hands  in  delight,  and  was  rewarded  with  a  shout  of 
admiration. 
"  They  would  have  done  better  to  have  fed  that  fel- 

846 


A    FOULOIiN    HOPE 


low,"  she  said,  decidedly,  as  we  turned  away  ;  "he  will 
do  some  fighting,  depend  upon  it." 

**  Yon  are  confident,  Angelique  ?" 

"  Certainly,  cherie  ;  tlie  town  cannot  be  defended. 
We  know  that,  and  if  General  Murray  goes  out,  as  he  is 
sure  to,  he  will  but  march  to  his  fate,  as  did  our  poor 
marquis." 

On  the  22d  of  April  we  were  up  before  daybreak,  and 
saw  the  garrison  march  oat  with  their  cannon  under  a 
leaden  sky  and  a  cold  drizzling  rain.  I  went  about  my 
tasks  weighed  down  by  a  sickening  anxiety,  for  though  I 
had  renounced  Hugh,  it  was  impossible  to  banish  him  at 
all  times  from  my  thoughts,  and  I  could  not  but  remem- 
ber that,  in  addition  to  the  ordinary  chances  of  battle,  he 
had  among  his  enemies  a  sworn  foe  in  my  brother,  and 
among  his  friends  a  treacherous  enemy  in  Sarennes. 
Against  these  dangers,  at  least,  I  could  pray  for  him 
with  an  undivided  heart. 

Noise  of  firing  came  to  us  through  the  day,  which  we 
spent  in  Perpetual  Adoration,  but  at  evening  the  troops 
re-entered  the  town  and  the  battle  was  still  uufought. 

On  the  morrow  they  were  again  assembled,  and  again 
we  watched  them  march  through  the  sodden  streets. 

We  had  not  long  to  wait  for  news  of  the  combat ;  every 
gust  of  wind  swept  down  on  us  the  faint  crackle  of  mus- 
ketry and  the  deep  boom  of  cannon  ;  it  seemed  intermin- 
able, but  before  the  afternoon  was  well  advanced  the 
first  stragglers  had  reached  the  gate'j.  They  were  fol- 
lowed later  by  a  mad,  ungovernablo  mob  of  English 
troops,  and  soon  the  streets  were  choked  with  men, 
shrieking,  crying,  and  swearing  at  their  defeat.  Their 
officers,  with  swords  drawn,  rode  among  them,  threaten- 
ing and  striking,  entreating  and  commanding  to  deaf 
ears,  for  the  men  were  like  wild  beasts,  and  could  not  be 
controlled.    It  was  not  fear ;  it  was  like  to  a  frenzy  o£ 

247 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


rage  and  shame  at  their  ront.  Thoy  hroke  into  taverns 
and  even  private  houses,  and  presently  tlie  madness  of 
drink  added  to  the  pandemonium.  The  wounded  were 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  carried  through  the  streets, 
and  before  evening  our  convent  and  every  other  refuge 
was  crowded  to  the  utmost. 

It  was  a  strange  position  for  all  of  us  ;  tlie  wounded 
were  our  nominal  enemies,  it  is  true,  but  we  had  been 
living  with  them  on  terms  of  the  kindliest  intimacy  for  a 
long  winter,  and  there  was  no  stimulus  of  duty  needed 
to  make  the  nuns  put  forth  every  effort  for  their  relief. 
To  me  they  were  more  than  generous  enemies  —  they 
were  countrymen  and  kinsmen  for  whom  I  was  bound  to 
work  with  a  whole  heart. 

I  was  interrupted  in  my  task  by  the  appearance  of 
Christopher.  *'  Madam,  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that 
your  brother,  tho  Captain,  is  safe." 

**Is  he  wounded  ?"  I  asked,  with  swift  anxiety. 

**  Yes,  madam,  but  our  surgeon  says  a  fine  clean  cut ; 
and  I  believe  him  too,  for  he  went  off  to  sleep  the  mo- 
ment it  was  dressed,  more  tired  than  hurt.  lie  is  in  his 
own  room,  where  yon  may  look  at  him  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  speak,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  the  greatest 
importance.  *'I  gave  Miss  Angelique  his  clothes  to  at- 
tend to  as  she  asked,  for  she  was  there  when  ho  was 
brought  in,  and  waited  until  she  heard  the  surgeon  say 
there  was  no  danger.  She  would  have  liked  to  watch, 
too,  but  I  was  put  in  charge." 

Christopher  cautiously  opened  the  door  and  allowed 
me  to  peep  in,  and  my  heart  was  lightened  at  the  sight 
of  Archie  sleeping  quietly,  his  brown  curls  hidden  beneath 
a  mass  of  bandages,  but  his  face  composed  and  natural. 

"  Thank  you,  Christopher,"  I  said.  **  You  are  a  brave 
lad." 

'"'There  were  lots  more  better  than  me,"  he  said, 
modestly,  "but  we  didn't  have  a  chance,  for  all  that." 

d48 


A    FORLORN    HOPE 

"Tell  mo  something  of  what  happened." 
'*  I  don't  know  what  happened  after  it  began.  T  only 
saw  the  back  of  the  man  in  front  of  mc,  and  was  too 
busy  with  my  piece  to  think  of  anything  else,  until  I 
saw  my  Captain  in  trouble,  and  then  my  hands  were  full 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  After  I  hear  some  of  the  old 
powder-eaters  talk,  madam,  I'll  be  able  to  make  up  a  fine 
story  for  you,"  he  said,  with  a  bright  laugh  that  to  me 
sounded  like  an  echo. 


id, 


I  hastened  to  our  room,  and  there  found  Angelique 
in  a  state  of  exultation. 

**  Victory,  Marguerite  !  As  I  told  you  !  Our  troops 
are  on  the  Heights  and  hold  the  General  Hospital,  and 
the  English  are  trapped  in  these  crazy  walls  !*'  But  in 
an  instant  she  calmed  herself  and  said,  earnestly,  *'  Now 
is  the  time  for  you  to  save  us  all  I" 

"  I  save  you  all  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Mean,  Marguerite  ?  Listen  to  those  cries  and  the 
fighting.  Do  you  know  what  they  mean  ?  They  mean 
that  the  men,  the  whole  garrison  on  which  the  English 
depend,  is  mad  with  drink  and  defeat — and  Levis  scarce 
a  mile  away  with  his  victorious  army  !  Just  one  word 
to  him,  Marguerite,  and  we  are  saved ;  he  will  be  in  the 
town  before  the  morning." 

"  Yes,  but  how  can  it  be  sent  ?    What  can  I  do  ?" 

"Carry  it  to  him!" 

"  Ang6lique,  are  you  mad  ?    How  could  I  carry  it  ?" 

"There  is  your  answer,"  she  cried,  pointing  to  Archie's 
uniform.  "  You  will  put  these  things  on,  and  you  can 
pass  the  gate  without  a  question.  Come,  undress  at 
once." 

"  Oh,  Angelique,  I  cannot !  Let  me  go  as  I  am  and  I 
will  not  hesitate,  but — " 

"For  shame.  Marguerite!"  cried  the  high-spirited 
girl.    "  For  shame  !  to  think  of  yourself  and  such  school- 

249 


-  ^:'r 


THE    SPAN    0'    MFE 


n!iii' 


I  'i 


girl  prudery  at  such  a  time  !  But  forgive  me,  cherie  ;  I 
did  not  quite  mean  that.  I  know  what  you  feel.  But 
do  you  think  I  would  hesitate  had  I  your  height  and 
could  I  speak  English  ?  No,  a  thousand  times  no ! 
Marguerite,  it  must  be  done  !  You  are  the  only  woman 
— the  only  person,  man  or  woman — in  Quebec  who  can 
do  it." 

**  Angeliq  le/'  I  cried,  in  an  agopy  of  distress,  *^  think 
of  my  own  people  here ;  it  would  be  almost  like  betray- 
ing them." 

'MVell,  think  of  them,  but  think  of  them  as  soldiers 
of  King  George  against  whom  you  were  praying  night 
and  day,  not  so  many  years  ago,  as  you  have  said  your- 
self." 

*'  But  there  is  my  brother  !" 

''lie  is  safe  in  bod  down-stairs;  and  when  he  is  a 
prisoner,  Marguerite,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  I  will 
go  to  M.  de  Levis  and  claim  him  for  myself,  like  a 
squaw  ;"  and  she  laughed  merrily. 

"  IIow  can  you  laugh,  Angelique  ?  Don't  you  see  what 
it  means  to  me  ?" 

''  Don't  you  see  what  it  means  to  us,  Marguerite  ? 
You  know  how  we  have  hoped  and  suffered.  You  have 
lived  among  us  and  shared  everything  we  had  to  give, 
joy  and  sorrow  alike.  Do  you  owe  nothing  to  us  ?  You 
were  defended  by  him  who  lies  in  his  grave  below  when 
a  jealous  woman  would  have  branded  you  as  a  spy.  Do 
you  owe  nothing  to  the  Marquis  do  Montcalm  ?  Do  you 
owe  nothing  to  those  others  who  stood  between  you  and 
her  malice  ?" 

*'Angeliquo,  do  you  think  you  need  remind  me  of 
these  things  ?" 

"  Forgive  me,  cherie,  if  I  am  ungracious  enough  to 
urge  the  claim  of  benefits  bestowed.  This  is  no  time 
for  pretty  speeches.  I  would  urge  anything  to  decide 
you." 

950 


A    FORLORN    HOPE 

"It  is  not  that.  If  I  could  go  as  I  am,  and  simply 
risk  capture,  or  even  death,  I  would  not  hesitate." 

"  You  cannot  go  as  you  are  I  A  woman  could  not  even 
pass  through  the  streets  to-night ;  but  no  one  will  look 
twice  at  a  uniform." 

"But  I  cannot.  Think  what  it  will  mean  to  me  if  I 
am  discovered  ;  think  what  it  will  mean  even  if  I  suc- 
ceed." 

"Marguerite,  Marguerite,  you  must  forget  what  yon 
are  !  You  must  forget  what  you  can  do,  and  what  you 
cannot  do  !  Forget  everything,  save  that  these  tidings 
must  reach  M.  de  Levis  to-night,  and  that  you  are  the 
only  one  who  can  carry  them.  There  !  Begin  to  un- 
dress at  once  I  Quick  I  Quick  !  Any  further  delay  may 
render  all  useless." 

Might  this  not  be  the  reparation  for  any  share  I  had 
had  in  the  failure  of  Sarennes  to  return  to  succour 
Louisbourg  ?  If  I  accepted  it  and  proved  successful, 
would  not  I  carry  into  my  new  vocation  something  more 
than  the  failure  of  a  life  that  had  sought  but  its  own 
ends  ?  If  I  failed,  would  not  I  have  attempted  at  least 
something  for  those  who  had  so  generously  befriended 
me  ?  Was  not  niv  shrinking  from  the  ordeal  of  the  dis- 
guise  but  a  harking  back  to  those  little  conventions 
which  I  had  resolved  to  cast  aside  forever  ?  Could  I 
make  a  better  use  of  my  life  than  to  lay  it  down,  if  need 
be,  in  such  a  cause  ? 

Reasoning  thus,  I  caught  something  of  the  intensity 
of  purpose  v/hich  dominated  Angelique,  and  with  fingers 
as  eager  as  her  own  I  prepared  myself  for  my  venture. 

"What  if  I  am  stopped  and  spoken  to  in  the  town  ?" 

"Don't  be  stopped,"  she  laughed,  "and  you  mustn't 
speak  unless  your  life  depends  on  it.  Carry  your  sword 
in  your  hand,  so  it  won't  trip  you  up,  square  your  shoul- 
ders, and  try  to  swagger  like  a  man.  Once  outside  the 
walls,  you  run  no  danger  at  all.     Keep  on  the  Ste.  Foyo 

251 


.t.r^^Sj^^^^ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

Road,  and  you  are  sure  to  fall  in  with  our  people  and  be 
captured  in  due  form.  Then  say,  '  Gentlemen,  I  am  a 
most  important  prisoner;  take  me  at  once  to  M.  le  gene- 
ral !'  et  v'l^ !  the  trick  is  done  !  Nothing  easier ;  if 
I  had  only  learned  to  speak  your  barbarous  language, 
and  were  a  little  taller,  I  would  be  in  your  shoes  to-night, 
and  wouldn't  change  places  with  the  best  lady  in  Ver- 
sailles !" 

Chattering  and  laughing  thus  in  her  excitement,  she 
shortened  up  straps  and  adjusted  buckles  with  as  many 
jests  as  though  dressing  me  for  a  masquerade. 

**  There  !"  she  cried,  as  she  coiled  up  my  hair  tightly, 
"  we  must  do  without  the  wig,  but  the  bonnet  will  cover 
a  multitude  of  sins.  You  are  as  pretty  a  looking  fellow 
as  the  heart  of  woman  could  desire.  Nothing  is  wanting 
now  but  a  brave  carriage  !  Walk  up  and  down  like  this, 
till  I  see,"  and  she  did  her  best  to  imitate  a  martial 
stride.  *'  Courage,  cherie  !  you  are  pale  as  a  ghost. 
Courage  !  and  remember  every  heart  true  to  France  will 
pray  for  you,  whether  you  win  or  lose.  You  are  carrying 
the  fate  of  the  colony  in  your  hands  to-night.  Let  me 
kiss  you,  cherie.  Again.  Bah  I  I'm  only  crying  because 
I  can't  go  in  your  stead.     Come,  I  will  let  you  out." 


When  the  side  door  of  the  convent  shut  behind  me 
and  I  found  myself  alone  in  the  darkness  of  the  narrow 
street,  my  courage  wellnigh  failed  me,  and  with  shame 
in  my  heart  I  realised  I  was  trembling  so  I  could  hard- 
ly put  one  foot  in  front  of  the  other.  But  the  rain 
dashed  into  my  face  by  the  high  wind  revived  me, 
and  with  an  effort  I  went  on.  As  I  made  my  way  down 
past  the  Jesuits  my  courage  gradually  returned,  and 
resolutely  thinking  of  my  mission  alone,  I  banished  my 
fears  to  such  extent  that  I  was  enabled  to  grasp  my 
sword  firmly,  and  step  forward  with  some  show  of  assur- 
ance. 

253 


'SHE  SnORTKNED  UP  STRAPS  ANT)  ADJUSTEO  RUCKLES 


'■'■ 


c 

h 

s; 
e 

P 


^ 


>'  ^^ 


A    FORLORN    HOPE 


As  I  turned  into  rne  St.  Jean  a  drunken  soldier  struck 
terror  into  me  again  by  shouting  out  a  convivial  salu- 
tation in  Gaelic,  but  his  more  sober  comrades  silenced 
him  with  low  curses  at  his  imprudence,  and  I  went  on, 
unmolested. 

There  were  not  so  many  in  the  streets  as  I  had  expect- 
ed, and  with  this  one  exception  no  one  noticed  me  ;  but 
as  I  drew  near  to  the  St.  John's  Gate  I  made  out  a  crowd 
of  men  busily  engaged  in  barricading  it,  and  for  a  moment 
I  stood  still  in  bewildered  helplessness.  I  had  so  resolved 
on  leaving  the  town  by  this  means  that  when  I  found  it 
closed  against  me  it  seemed  as  if  my  whole  plan  had 
failed.  With  my  heart  beating  so  I  could  hardly  see  to 
direct  my  steps,  I  turned  back  along  the  way  I  had  come, 
and  it  was  not  until  I  drew  near  the  Palace  Hill  I  re- 
membered there  were  other  exits.  Gaining  fresh  courage, 
I  turned  down  and  made  my  way  to  the  Palace  Gate, 
when,  for  the  first  time,  it  struck  me  that  a  password 
must  be  given,  and  of  it  I  was  ignorant.  I  did  not  even 
know  tlie  forms  necessary  to  pass  the  men,  and  if  an  ofli- 
cer  were  present  I  must  be  discovered  at  once  ,  but  it  was 
now  too  late  to  draw  back,  as  I  was  in  full  view  of  the 
guard. 

It  was  a  strange  time  to  remember  such  things,  but  the 
first  line  of  poor  Lucy's  hymn  kept  ringing  in  my  head, 
and  I  advanced,  saying  over  and  over  to  myself,  like  a 
chui'm : 

"  Thou  very  present  Aid 
In  suffering  and  distress." 


When  I  was  almost  face  to  face  with  the  guard  I  made 
out  it  was  composed  of  sailors,  and  just  as  I  expected  to 
hear  the  words  which  meant  discovery  and  disgrace,  one 
said  to  the  other  in  a  tone  of  authority:  ''The  Seventy- 
eighth.  It's  all  right  !"and  without  challenging  nio  they 
presented  arms.   Had  I  even  known  the  password  1  could 

253 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

not  have  pronounced  it,  for  my  tongue  clave  to  the  roof 
of  my  mouth  ;  but  seeing  my  intent,  the  mau  who  had 
spoken  stepped  before  me  and  opened  the  wicket.  I 
raised  my  hand  in  acknowledgment,  and  passed  through. 


I  was  without  the  walls. 


254 


^'1 


part  f  If 
MAXWELL'S  STORY 

"  Adieu,  paniers,  vendanges  sont  /aites." — Old  Proverb. 


'li 


%\ 


m 


fWaantiiMi  mi^ntHfijit 


CHAPTER  XXVT 


I  CLOSE   ONE  ACCOUNT  AND   OPEN   ANOTHER 


i- 


i' 


Portentous  as  were  its  results,  I  have  never  been 
able  to  look  upon  the  battle  of  the  13th  of  September  as 
adding  anything  of  value  to  military  knowledge.  From 
a  technical  view  it  never  attained  the  dignity  of  battle  at 
any  point,  and  only  exceeded  a  skirmish  in  the  heavy 
losses  and  the  deaths  of  the  leading  generals  on  each  side. 

The  recognition  of  their  efforts,  and  of  those  who  so 
ably  replaced  them  by  their  respective  governments  and 
contemporaries,  read  as  a  sorry  commentary  on  the  popu- 
lar distribution  of  honours. 

Wolfe,  almost  a  tyro,  at  one  bound  won  immortality 
and  immediate  applause  from  his  countrymen ;  Mont- 
calm, almost  a  veteran,  though  mourned  by  those  about 
him,  was  persistently  vilified,  even  ^fter  death,  by  the 
very  man  who  should  have  been  his  most  loyal  supporter  ; 
I  do  not  hesitate  to  name  M.  de  Vaudreuil — and  I  am  not 
aware  of  even  a  head -stone  having  been  raised  to  his 
memory. 

On  the  other  hand,  his  successor,  the  Chevalier  de 
Levis,  met  with  fitting  reward  and  honourable  advance- 
ment in  his  profession,  and  the  titles  of  Duke  and  Mar- 
shal of  France  are  now  borne  with  dignity  by  one  whose 
natural  nobility  of  soul  renders  him  eminently  worthy 
of  such  honours. 

To  complete  the  contrast,  the  Honourable  James  Mur- 
ray, who  succeeded  Wolfe,  held  an  unprotected  city  in 
an  enemy's  country  throughout  a  distressing  winter, 
u  257 


u 


ITT 

is 


V       I 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

handled  his  slender  troops  with  contagious  enthusiasm, 
fought  and  lost  a  desperate  battle  like  a  gallant  soldier ; 
later  on  he  governed  a  conquered  people  with  a  consum- 
mate tact,  and  still  serves  his  country  with  distinction — to 
meet  with  no  other  reward,  that  I  ever  heard  of,  than  the 
approbation  of  his  conscience  and  the  admiration  of  all 
honest  men. 

In  writing  thus  openly  I  must  disclaim  any  intention 
of  carping,  for  I  would  scorn  to  deprive  either  of  the 
illustrious  dead  of  a  single  laurel  in  the  crown  so  nobly 
won,  but  the  very  generosity  of  contemporary  admiration, 
has  a  tendency  to  work  injustice  towards  tiio  survivors. 


I  know  personally,  for  I  afterwards  had  abundant  op- 
portunity of  judging,  with  what  stoutness  of  heart  did 
that  admirable  soldier.  General  Murray,  support  his  mis- 
givings, when  he  saw  the  last  English  frigate  sail  from 
Quebec  in  the  late  autumn  of  '59,  bearing  his  more  fort- 
unate comrades  to  the  reward  of  their  gallantry,  while 
he  and  his  little  garrison  were  left  in  a  ruined  town  to 
face  all  the  chances  of  war,  to  which  were  added  the  un- 
known dangers  of  a  dreaded  winter  season. 

On  our  side  we  made  our  headquarters  in  Montreal, 
where  the  military  were  busy  enough,  while  the  officials 
and  other  unemployed  classes  —  priests,  women,  and 
school-boys — beguiled  their  inaction,  and  cheated  them- 
selves into  hopefulness  by  the  most  chimerical  and  fan- 
tastical projects  for  the  retaking  of  Quebec  that  ever 
deluded  the  human  mind. 

The  truth  is,  we  were  as  miserable  a  lot  of  devils  on 
both  sides  as  one  could  well  imagine.  In  Quebec,  the 
English  were  half-starved,  half-frozen,  wholly  without 
pay,  and  without  reliable  information.  In  Montreal,  we 
had  enough  to  eat,  we  were  as  gay  as  the  clergy,  M.  de 
Vaudreuil,  and  our  miserable  plight  would  permit ;  we 
were  without  pay,  it  is  true,  but  to  that  we  had  been 

258 


I    CLOSE    AND    OPEN    ACCOUNTS 

long  accustomed  ;  but  we  had  the  most  exact  information 
as  to  what  went  on  in  Quebec,  thanks  to  friends  within 
its  walls,  while  our  non-figiiting  orders,  ever  at  the 
height  of  certainty  or  the  depth  of  despair,  had  so  be- 
fooled themselves  with  their  infallible  schemes  of  con- 
quest, that  they  looked  forward  to  the  spring  campaign 
with  a  confidence  almost  pitiable  in  the  eyes  of  thinking 
men. 

Early  in  April,  M.  de  Levis  gathered  together  his 
motley  army ;  the  remnants  of  the  brigades  of  liearn 
La  Reine,  La  Sarre,  Royal  Roussillon,  Berri,  and  La 
Marine,  less  than  four  thousand  in  all,  with  about  three 
thousand  militia  and  volunteers,  and,  supported  by  a 
few  miserable  cannon,  marched  forth  to  sit  down  before 
Quebec. 

We  were  disappointed  in  our  first  plan  of  attack,  but 
on  the  28th  of  April,  17G0,  we  had  the  good  fortune  to 
meet  Murray  face  to  face  almost  on  the  very  ground 
where  Wolfe  and  Moutcalm  had  fought  in  the  previous 
September. 

Murray's  force  was  somewhat  smaller  than  ours,  but 
more  than  equalled  it  in  quality,  being  all  regular  troops, 
besides  which  he  had  somewhat  the  advantage  of  posi- 
tion ;  but,  falling  into  the  same  error  as  Montcalm,  he 
abandoned  this  to  begin  the  attack,  and  the  same  result 
followed. 

The  battle  of  Ste.  Foye  will  always  command  the  re- 
spect of  men  of  discretion  without  regard  to  the  side 
which  may  engage  their  sympathies. 

There  we  met  a  foe  as  brave  as  the  heart  of  soldier 
could  desire  who  for  hours  disputed  every  foot  of  ground 
with  us,  and  the  one  error  of  the  action  on  our  part  was 
rectified  with  a  precision  so  admirable  that  it  but  height- 
ened the  honours  of  the  day.  Before  I  record  this,  I  must 
note  a  personal  incident. 

259 


J 


: 

I 


$ 


*=V,t*5-'.-h_,,._. 


w 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


Ui 


;  ! 


I*      I 


|l*y ' 


I 


m 


m 


Immcdiatoly  in  front  of  our  left,  where  the  rep^imcnts 
of  lit-arn  and  La  Sarro  wore  stationed,  stood  a  mill  and 
its  depeiKkMHiies,  belons^iiifjf,  I  believe,  to  one  called  I)ii- 
mont,  and  tlioiij,di  its  possession  was  not  of  the  sli<;litest 
strategical  importance,  by  one  of  those  strange  chances 
of  battle  it  became  the  centre  of  the  most  obstinate 
fighting  on  both  sides.  Our  grenadiers  took  possession 
of  it,  and  held  it  until  driven  out  at  the  point  of  dirk 
and  claymore  by  the  Iliglilanders,  who  in  turn  were  dis- 
lodged after  a  desperate  haiul-to-hand  struggle,  where- 
upon the  whole  contest  recommenced.  M.  de  Levis, 
annoyed  by  the  useless  waste  of  men  and  the  danger 
of  expending  such  effort  and  attention  on  so  misleading 
an  object,  sent  mo  with  orders  to  have  our  men  with- 
drawn. 

When  I  arrived  the  struggle  was  again  at  its  height, 
both  sides  were  fighting  with  the  simple  ferocity  of  sav- 
ages, unmindful  of  every  rule  of  war.  There  was  neither 
direction  nor  command  ;  it  was  man  against  man  in  a  mad, 
unmeaning  struggle  for  the  pleasure  of  mastery. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  I  said  to  the  Chevalier  d'Aigue- 
belle,  who  commanded  the  grenadiers,  "but  M.  de  Levis 
seuds  positive  orders  that  you  must  withdraw  your  men. 
You  are  distracting  the  attention  of  the  wliole  left." 

Then  catching  sight  of  the  officer  in  command  of  Fra- 
ser's  I  rode  forward  and  saluted.  As  lie  answered  my 
salute  I  saw  it  was  my  once  prisoner,  Nairn. 

"  Call  off  your  men.  Captain  Nairn  I"  I  shouted. 
''This  is  simply  murder!  I  have  given  orders  for  ours 
to  withdraw.     There  is  no  loss  of  honour  on  either  side." 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  rushed  among 
them,  commanding  and  striking  up  swords  right  and 
left,  while  we  did  the  same.  AVheu  our  object  Avas  at- 
tained, he  turned  to  me  and  said  : 

"  Hark  you,  sir  !  I  am  ready  enough  to  join  in  avoid- 
ing useless  slaughter,  but  I  have  an  account  to  square 

360 


f»-^*il''A     't.W*l«-'«»,wMii-* 


ir« 


iny 


and 
at- 


1 1 


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■ 

'       1 

'■ 

t'9 

1 
i 

I    CLOSE    AND   OPEN    ACCOUNTS 

with  you,  for  which  there  shall  be  no  calling  off  when 
we  meet.     Remember  that !" 

I  laughed  and  saluted,  mightily  intrigued  at  what  his 
meaning  might  be,  and  then  rode  off  to  attend  on  the 
General. 


Meantime  the  fighting  along  the  line  had  been  severe, 
and  the  enemy's  artillery  had  told  on  us  with  such  effect 
that  at  last  our  centre  wavered  and  began  to  give  way. 
Supported  by  a  wood,  our  left  stood  firm  within  about 
twenty  paces  of  the  foe,  when  a  flurried  adjutant  ran 
along  the  line  with  orders  to  make  a  half  -  turn  to  the 
right  and  retire  to  some  houses  in  the  rear. 

M.  Malartic,  major  of  La  Sarre,  stood  aghast ;  it  virt- 
ually meant  retreat,  and  retreat  in  such  a  position  in- 
vited certain  destruction.  He  hurried  over  to  M.  de 
Barroute,  a  captain  of  Beam,  which  stood  next  to  the 
right,  and  repeated  the  order.  They  agreed  at  once  a 
mistake  iiad  been  made,  and  an  ominous  murmur 
arose  from  the  men  as  the  news  was  whispered  from 
one  to  another.  On  this  M.  Dalquier,  their  colonel, 
as  fine  and  experienced  an  officer  as  ever  drew  sword, 
rode  up,  and,  inquiring  of  their  difficulty,  swept  it  aside 
by  crying,  "  I  will  take  it  upon  me  to  disobey  the  order. 
Fix  bayonets,  mes  enfants !"  The  command  was  exe- 
cuted in  an  instant ;  then,  rising  in  his  stirrups,  he 
swung  his  sword  above  his  head  and  roared  in  a  voice 
that  could  be  heard  all  along:  the  line,  "  Charge  !" 

The  effect  was  indescribable  ;  there  was  one  quick, 
sharp  shout  of  *' Vive  le  Roi !"  and  the  men  went  on  like 
so  many  demons. 

"  Look  at  La  Sarre  !"  cried  Poulariez,  with  the  Royal 
Roussillon  on  the  right,  as  we  marked  the  sudden  con- 
fusion and  then  the  charge.  "The  English  have  ad- 
vanced too  far !  Ride  to  the  Canadians,  Maxwell ! 
Half-wheel  to  the  left,  and  we  fall  on  their  flank  !'* 

261 


'  I 


THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 

It  was  the  deciding-point  of  the  battle.  The  English 
line  was  thrown  into  complete  disorder,  and  thence  for- 
ward there  was  nothing  but  hand-to-hand  fighting  of  the 
fiercest  description,  which  lasted  until  it  ended  in  the 
utter  rout  of  the  enemy. 


I 


I    ( 

i 


t  I' 

!    S 


-     lil 


At  one  point  I  saw  M.  de  Boucherville,  who  carried 
the  flag  of  the  Montreal  troops,  go  down  in  a  mC'16e,  but 
the  colours  were  saved  by  the  determined  gallantry  of 
M.  de  Sarennes,  who  carried  them  off  amid  a  storm  of 
cheers. 

"  Bravo,  Sarennes !"  I  called  to  him  as  he  rode  past 
a  moment  later.  ''Your  lady-love  should  have  seen 
that!" 

*'  Go  to  the  devil !"  he  roared  back  at  me,  with  the 
voice  and  gesture  of  the  boor  he  really  was  at  bottom, 
but  my  hands  were  too  full  either  to  wonder  at  his  insult 
or  demand  an  explanation. 

I  will  make  no  attempt  to  follow  the  detail  of  the  ac- 
tion ;  it  is  enough  to  say  the  honours  rested  with  us.  We 
stood  victorious  over  the  same  foe  that  had  defeated  us 
on  the  same  ground  six  months  before.  We  had  regained 
the  Heights,  regained  the  General  Hospital,  and  it  re- 
mained to  be  seen  how  soon  we  might  sweep  over  its 
ruined  ramparts  into  Quebec  and  hold  it  once  more  for 
King  Louis. 

As  I  entered  the  Hospital  towards  evening  to  report  to 
M.  de  Levis,  one  of  the  sisters  addressed  me  :  "  Pardon, 
monsieur,  but  are  you  the  Chevalier  de  Maxwell  ?" 

*'  Yes,  ma  soeur." 

*'M.  Dalquier  wishes  to  speak  with  you.  He  lies 
here. " 

1  found  that  fine  old  soldier  lying  on  a  bed  faint  from 
a  wound  he  had  received  at  the  very  moment  he  made 
his  decisive  charge,  but  which  had  not  prevented  him 

262 


I    CLOSE    AND    OPEN    ACCOUNTS 


EngUsli 
Slice  f  or- 
ig  of  the 
d  in  the 


0  carried 
iCl6e,  bat 
Uantry  of 

storm  of 

rode  past 
have  seen 

,,  with  the 
at  bottom, 
tt  his  insult 

1  of  the  ac- 
thns.   We 

defeated  us 
lad  regained 
and  it  re- 
eep  over  its 
,ce  more  for 


to  report  to 
•  '<  Pardon, 
Iwell  ?" 


3U. 


He  lies 


ed  faint  from 
lent  he  made 
Irevented  him 


holding  his  place  for  some  time  later.  He  smiled  brave- 
ly as  he  held  out  his  hand  to  me. 

"These  confounded  surgeons  will  not  allow  me  to 
speak  in  person,  but  I  wish  you,  Chevalier,  to  thank  the 
General  for  me.  Did  you  hear  about  it  ?  No  ?  Then, 
listen.  Just  after  our  charge  was  made,  and  we  had 
formed  again,  he  rode  up.  '  Here  is  the  devil  to  pay,'  I 
said  to  myself,  and  was  framing  my  defence  in  short 
order,  when,  *M.  Dalquier,'  he  said,  so  that  all  about 
could  hear,  *the  King  owes  you  his  thanks  for  not 
making  that  half -turn.  Hold  your  position  for  five  min- 
utes, and  I  will  answer  for  the  battle.'  Did  you  ever 
hear  anything  like  it  ?  Think  of  a  general  making  such 
an  acknowledgment,  and  before  my  men,  too  !  Mort 
Dieu,  Chevalier  !  Tell  him  I  would  rather  have  this  to 
remember  than  wear  the  Cross  of  St.  Louis.  Go  !"  And 
he  turned  away  his  face,  to  hide  the  tears  that  spake  of 
his  overwhelming  satisfaction. 

*'  I  will  see  him  as  soon  as  I  can  find  a  moment,"  said 
M.  de  Levis,  when  I  repeated  my  message,  almost  as 
moved  as  the  old  soldier.  "  Now,  Chevalier,  as  soon  as 
it  falls  dark,  do  you  go  over  the  ground  alone,  and  as 
close  to  the  town  as  possible,  to  see  what  dispositions  we 
are  to  make  for  our  trenches.  Mark  what  Murray  has 
attempted  in  the  way  of  defences  or  outworks.  Let  me, 
or  M.  de  Pontleroy,  hear  from  you  to-night,  no  matter 
how  late  the  hour.  But  get  some  refreshment  before 
you  set  out,"  he  added,  thoughtful  as  ever  of  the  wants 
of  others. 

I  sate  down  for  a  few  moments'  rest,  and  ate  something 
the  good  nuns  provided,  and  then  borrowing  a  cloak  to 
serve  as  a  protection  against  the  drizzling  rain  which  had 
again  set  in,  I  sallied  forth. 

When  I  reached  the  Heights  it  was  puzzlingly  dark, 
though  the  hour  was  early,  and  1  had  the  utmost  ditli- 

268 


'). 


r'  i 


IT 


V       i 


(T- 


'  f 


ill  iJ 


Mf 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

ctilty  in  finding  my  way.  Corpses  of  men  and  horses 
hindered  me,  more  than  once  the  wounded  appealed  to 
me  for  help,  but  I  went  on  unheeding,  trying  to  deter- 
mine my  exact  whereabouts,  in  order  to  begin  my  task. 
I  had  approached  near  enough  the  town  to  see  the  lights, 
and  could  even  catch  soi'rds  from,  the  no  doubt  terrified 
population,  but  paid  no  a'  tion  to  anything  save  my 
object  in  hand. 

Suddenly  a  voice  shouted  in  the  darkness,  *'  Halte  1^  !" 
to  which  I  promptly  replied  : 

*'  Etat-major,  aide  de  M.  de  Levis.*' 

*'  Damn  your  Etat-major  !"  was  the  astonishing  reply. 
**  Why  don't  you  say  *Mistaire  Maxwelle'?"  in  an  un- 
describable  attempt  at  an  English  pronunciation  of  my 
name. 

**  Come,  come,  Sarennes,"  I  said,  for  I  recognised  the 
tall  Canadian,  '*  have  you  not  got  over  your  ill-humour 
yet  ?    You  nearly  insulted  me  to-day  in  the  field." 

"  I  intended  to.  Do  you  wish  me  to  repeat  my  words, 
or  do  you  not  know  when  you  are  insulted,  unless  you 
are  struck  ?" 

**Are  you  mad,  or  only  drunk,  Sarennes  ?  Got  back 
to  camp,  man,  and  sleep  off  your  fit.  We  cannot  afford 
to  quarrel  after  such  a  da^  as  this." 

*'No  !  you  cannot  afforJ  lo  fight  at  any  time.  Do  you 
think  I  am  a  woman  like  her  whom  you  deceived,  to  be 
tricked  by  your  lying  tongue  ?" 

"  Stop,  sir !"  I  commanded.  '*  I  am  on  duty,  but  my 
duty  must  wait  until  I  have  read  you  a  lesson,  which, 
I  regret,  you  will  not  live  to  profit  by." 

We  could  hardly  see  each  other,  and  it  was  utterly 
impossible  to  follow  the  sword-play  save  by  feel ;  it  was 
not  a  duel  at  all ;  it  was  death,  sure  and  swift,  for  one 
or  perhaps  both  of  us  in  the  dark. 

Sure  and  swift  it  was.  I  lost  touch  of  his  blade,  and 
as  he  lunged  desperately,  I  avoided  his  stroke  by  drop- 

364 


I    CLOSE    AND    OPEN    ACCOUNTS 


ping  on  my  left  hand,  and  straightening  my  sword-arm 
en  sec^nde,  ran  him  clean  through  the  body  as  he  came 
forward,  his  blade  passing  harmlessly  over  me.  It  was 
a  desperate  chance  to  take,  but  the  stakes  were  high. 

I  knelt  beside  the  fallen  man  and  spake  to  him,  but 
he  could  not  answer,  and  in  common  liumanity  I  rose 
and  hurried  off  to  find  some  help. 

I  had  not  gone  fifty  j^irds  before  I  almost  ran  up 
against  a  man  cautiously  making  his  way  over  the  field. 
To  my  astonishment,  I  saw  he  was  an  officer  of  Eraser's 
Highlanders,  and  commanding  him  to  halt,  I  advanced, 
pistol  in  hand,  and  recognized  Nairn. 

*'  You  are  my  prisoner,  sir,"  I  declared,  covering  him 
as  I  spake,  and  then,  the  drollery  of  the  situation  coming 
over  me,  I  dropped  my  arm  and  said,  "  It  seems  I  am 
in  for  settling  accounts  to-night,  Captain  Nairn.  Yon 
were  good  enough  to  remind  me  of  some  indebtedness 
on  the  field  to-day,  though  what  it  was  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  determine.  Perhaps  it  was  my  refusal  of  your  hand- 
some offer  to  me  in  Louisbourg  that  I  sliould  turn 
traitor.  No  ?  'Pon  my  soul,  you  are  strangely  quiet 
in  private  for  a  gentleman  who  was  so  insistent  in  com- 
pany ! 

"Come,  draw  the  sword  which  you  flourished  to  so  lit- 
tle purpose  to-day,  and  you  will  find  I  can  pay  in  the 
only  coin  a  soldier  should  demand  or  take. 

**  What  I  Not  ready  yet  ?  "Would  you  have  mo  pro- 
duce my  commission  q's  an  officer,  or  establish  my  right 
to  arms,  before  yon  can  cross  swords  with  me  P  By 
God,  sir  I  I  will  sand  no  more  of  your  precious  fooling. 
Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  roar  out  at  me  in  public 
like  some  scurvy  shopkeeper,  and  then  stand  like  a  stock- 
fish when  I  do  you  the  honour  to  ask  your  pleasure  ? 
Draw,  sir,  draw,  before  I  am  forced  to  strike  you  like  a 
coward!" 

To  TT.y  amazement,  instead  of  answering  my  words  as 

26r) 


|{ 


>i  *i 


^j 


I 


H 


I    :     I. 


6  ■  f    '■  -. 

mi 


u 


SI 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

they  deserved,  he  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  weak  cry 
and  covered  his  face. 

Supposing  liim  to  bo  wounded,  I  melted  in  a  moment, 
and,  stepping  forward,  held  out  my  hand  to  him. 

"  '"^ome,  sir,  come  I  You  are  unnerved.  Tell  me,  are 
you  iiit  ?" 

As  I  spake  I  still  advanced  to  support  him,  and  was 
surprised  beyond  measure  when  the  supposed  officer  re- 
treated before  me  and  cried,  in  a  voice  of  intense  wom- 
i>  :•  aty,  ''  No,  no  ;  do  not  touch  me  !" 

1  b,.''  ■■r,  laughing.  *''Pon  my  soul,  madam!  you 
came  neai  o.Mi'g  somewhat  late,  with  your  emburgo,  and 
you  ''.ivo  bcL-.  'f'f''  ^'>3  into  an  exhibition  of  the  vilest 
hum.oar,  f  "  *"'  ..      •  nost  humbly  apologise." 

She  seemed  some  -...l  r.ncertaiu  how  to  take  my  droll- 
ing, whereupon  I  changed  my  tone,  and  asked,  with 
every  appearance  of  curiosity,  "May  I  inquire  how  I 
can  be  of  service  to  you  ?" 

*' Am  I  within  the  French  lines  ?" 

*'No;  you  are  on  what  may  still  be  considered  de- 
batable ground.  But  I  cannot  give  information  to  a  lady 
whose  masquerade  is  at  least  suspicious." 

**I  only  ask,  sir,  to  be  taken  within  your  lines.  Will 
you  do  this  for  me  ?" 

'*  I  doubt  it,  madam,  unless  you  can  show  me  yon 
have  good  right  to  be  there.  You  are  not  a  French- 
woman." 

"No,  I  am  not,  but  I  carry  important  information  for 
your  General." 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  but  the  General  is  fully  occu- 
pied," I  said,  in  my  most  repelling  manner. 

"  Sir,  I  have  come  thus  far  at  great  risk  to  myself, 
and  my  news  is  of  the  utmost  importance.  Let  me  go 
on  alone,  if  you  will  not  take  me  in  yourrfclf." 

"  Madam,  1  have  not  the  honour  to  be  known  to  you, 
but,  believe  me,  my  advice  is  of  the  best  when  I  tell 


266 


you 


weak  cry 


moment, 

n. 

I  me,  are 

and  was 
)fticer  re- 
use wom- 

am  !  you 

irgo,  and 
he  vilest 

my  droll- 
[ed,  with 
re  how  I 


ered  de- 
to  a  lady 

3s.     Will 

me  yon 
French- 

ation  for 

lly  occu- 

myself, 
;t  me  go 

i  to  yon, 
'.  tell  you 


HE  TUUEW  Ul'  HIS  HANDS  WriU  A  WEAK  CUY  AND  COVEUED  1118  FACE 


11 


li; 


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ii 


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r 
a 

V 

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a 

P 
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i 


JM 


m 


ac 


M 

kr 


I    CLOSE    AND    OPEN    ACCOUNTS 


that  your  way  is  open  to  the  town  again.  Take  it, 
madam,  and  think  nothing  more  of  this  escapade,  but 
that  you  were  fortunate  to  have  fallen  in  with  one  who 
could  advise  so  soundly." 

**This  is  no  escapade,  sir ;  it  has  been  a  matter  of  life 
or  death  to  mo,  and  it  is  almost  as  much  to  your  Gen- 
eral," she  said,  with  such  earnestness  that  I  could  not 
doubt  her  intentions. 

*'Then,  madam,  if  you  are  determined,  I  will  take 
you.  You  cannot  possibly  go  on  alone  ;  there  are  too 
many  Indians  engaged  in  their  usual  pastime  of  looking 
after  white  scalps.  But  first  I  must  seek  for  help  for  a 
wounded  officer,  and  then  must  complete  my  work. 
Follow  me  closely,  but  give  me  your  word  you  will  not 
attempt  any  tricks,"  I  said  ;  for  I  have  never  been  pre- 
possessed in  favour  of  adventurous  damsels,  and  I  mis- 
doubted the  value  of  her  alleged  information. 

**That  will  not  answer.  I  must  go  on  at  once!  I 
cannot  wait." 

**  It  seems  to  me  you  are  hardly  in  a  position  to 
choose,  madam,"  I  replied,  amused  at  her  decision. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said,  desperately  : 

**  Do  you  know  who  I  am,  Hugh  Maxwell  ?  I  am 
Margaret  Nairn  !" 

Had  the  solid  ground  opened  beneath  my  feet  I  could 
not  have  been  more  confounded. 

**  Margaret  I"  I  cried,  when  I  could  find  my  voice. 
*'  Margaret — here  ?  I  cannot  understand.  Speak  to  me 
again  !" 

*'  Yes,  Hugh,  I  am  Margaret — Margaret  Nairn.  I  am 
Mme.  de  St.  Just." 

"You  have  been  here  all  along  and  never  let  me 
know  ?    I  cannot  understand." 

*'  Do  not  try  to  understand  now.  Hugh  !  I  beseech 
you  to  take  me  on  trust  and  help  me  to  go  on." 

But  as  she  spake  I  caught  sight  of  a  moving  light. 

2G7 


'  i- 


( 


I  \ 


■i  I 


{ 


r 


H     I 


\ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

"  Do  not  speak  another  word.  Some  one  is  coming. 
Crouch  down  here  until  I  see  wlio  it  is." 

Advancing  cautiously,  I  discovered  the  light  came 
from  a  lanthorn,  by  the  aid  of  which  a  priest  was  exam- 
ining the  bodies,  hoping,  no  doubt,  to  discover  some 
unfortunate  who  needed  his  ministrations.  He  would 
serve  me  for  Sarennes. 

"  Mon  p6re,"  I  said,  advancing,  "  may  I  beg  your 
assistance  for  a  wounded  officer  ?" 

'*  Willingly.     Lead  me  to  him.     Who  is  he  ? 

"  M.  do  Sarennes." 

**  Ah,  I  know  him  well." 

I  directed  him  to  where  Sarennes  lay,  and  then  re- 
turned to  Margaret. 

"  I  must  wait  until  I  see  if  anything  can  be  done  here 
before  we  go.     Come  with  me  for  a  moment." 

The  priest  took  no  notice  of  us  as  we  knelt  beside  the 
dying  man,  and  Margaret,  exclaiming  with  pity  as  she 
saw  him,  lifted  his  head  and  supported  it  in  her  lap. 

Sarennes  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up  into  her  face. 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  moving 

lips. 

"  Requiem  aDternam  dona  ei,  Domlne, 
Et  lux  perpetua  luceat  ei," 

prayed  the  priest,  and  even  as  we  responded  the  un- 
happy spirit  took  its  flight.  Margaret  bowed  her  head, 
and  her  tears  fell  on  the  dead  face  in  her  lap. 

Most  of  us  have  been  in  circumstances  where  the  kill- 
ing of  a  man  was  a  necessity,  and  have  suffered  no 
qualms  of  conscience  thereat.  I  certainly  had  no  com- 
punctions on  the  outcome  of  my  meeting  with  M.  de 
Sarennes,  and  yet,  at  the  sight  of  Margaret's  tears,  the 
natural  feelings  triumphed  over  the  intellectual,  and  I 
joined  fervently  in  the  prayers  of  the  priest. 

He  now  appeared  to  notice  Margaret  for  the  first  time, 

268 


coming. 

;ht  came 
us  exam- 
iner some 
[e  would 

beg  your 


then  re- 
lone  here 

eside  the 
:y  as  she 
•  lap. 
her  face. 


moving 


the  un- 
ler  head, 

the  kill- 
fered  no 

no  com- 
;h  M.  de 
:ears,  the 
al,  and  I 


'A 
A 

o 


■A 


n 


A 


A 

■< 


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I  ■ 


I 


irst  time, 


[    CLOSE    AND    OPExV    ACCOUNTS 


t  ' 


}> 


and  lifting  his  lanthorn,  he  held  it  so  that  the  light 
slione  full  upon  her ;  as  slie  raised  her  head  in  surprise, 
I  could  see  he  recognised  lier. 

"  Marguerite  \"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  reproach. 

"Why  do  you  speak  to  me  thus,  mon  pere  ?  Why  do 
yon  speak  tiius  ?"  she  repeated,  with  alarm  in  her  ac- 
cents. 

**  Marguerite,  is  it  possible  yon  do  not  know  me  ?" 

**  Know  you  ?  Why  do  yon  ask  ?  Why  do  you  call 
me  by  my  name  ?    You  are  le  ptsre  Jean." 

•*  I  am  le  pere  Jean — but  I  was  Gaston  do  Trincardel!" 

**What !"  siie  cried,  almost  with  terror,  as  she  sprang 
to  her  feet. 

**  I  am  Oaston  de  Trincardel,"  he  repeated,  unmoved. 

*'0h,  why  do  you  tell  me  this  ?     At     luh  a  time  . 
she  moaned,  and  I  stepped  to  her  side,  for  her  cry  went 
to  my  heart. 

*'  I  tell  you  this  because  I  must  try  to  bring  you  to 
your  senses.  Why  are  you  here  i  disguise?  A  shame- 
ful disguise,"  he  repeated,  scornfully.  "Whose  hand 
slew  this  man  before  us  ?" 

**  Mine  !*'  I  interrupted,  for  I  could  not  stand  by  and 
see  her  meet  his  attack  alone. 

*'  Why  are  you  here  beside  one  who  may  be  little  better 
than  a  murderer  ?"  he  continued  to  her,  without  heeding 
me  in  the  least. 

"  Sir,  you  are  free  to  put  any  construction  on  my  act 
you  choose,  as  I  cannot  make  you  answer  for  your 
words,"  I  interrupted  again. 

''One  from  whom  I  have  striven  with  all  my  power  as 
a  priest  to  keep  you  ?"  he  went  on,  still  ignoring  me. 
"Since  that  has  failed,  1  must  try  and  appeal  to  your 
gratitude  towards  her  who  was  your  protector  wlien  you 
were  but  a  girl.  In  some  sense  I  stand  as  her  represen- 
tative, and  I  charge  you  by  her  memory  to  renounce  this 
last  folly  which  has  led  you  here." 

269 


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H' 


THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 

"Stop,  Gaston!"  she  cried.  "Every  word  you  say 
would  be  an  insult  did  it  come  from  another.  But  I  have 
too  high  a  reverence  for  you  as  a  priest,  the  remembrance 
of  your  unfailing  charity  is  too  strong,  to  answer  except 
by  an  explanation.  Never  mind  appearances  !  I  am  here 
in  this  disguise  because  it  afforded  the  only  possible 
escape  from  the  town,  and  my  object  is  to  carry  word  to 
M.  de  Levis  that  everything  within  the  walls  is  in  the 
most  complete  disorder,  the  garrison  is  mad  with  drink, 
and  he  has  but  to  march  on  the  town  at  once  to  effect 
its  capture." 

"  Are  you  dreaming  ? — the  town  helpless  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  his,  if  he  can  but  advance  without  delay." 

"  Then,  forgive  me  !  I  was  wrong — a  hundred  times 
wrong  !" 

"  Just  one  moment.  My  meeting  with  M.  de  Maxwell 
is  as  much  by  chance  as  your  octing  with  me,"  she 
added,  with  a  decision  which  I  thought  perhaps  unnec- 
essary. 

"Forgive  me.  Marguerite,"  he  repeated,  in  his  usual 
tone;  "and  you  too.  Chevalier.  I  wronged  you  both. 
Now  to  make  amends.  Will  you  lead  us  to  the  Gen- 
eral ?"  he  said,  turning  to  me. 

"  Come,"  I  said,  and  we  each  held  out  a  hand  to  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Stand !"  thundered  a  voice  in  English  at  two  paces 
from  us.     "  You  are  all  covered  !" 

270 


CHAPTER  XXVIl 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 


» 


**We  are  your  prisoners!"  I  answered,  instantly,  for 
the  slightest  hesitation  on  such  occasions  may  lead  to 
the  most  serious  results.  Explanations  can  be  made 
subsequently,  but  a  bullet  from  an  over-zealous  musket 
can  never  be  recalled. 

In  an  instant  they  were  beside  us,  a  sergeant  and  six 
men,  all  Highlanders.  I  was  about  to  speak  again,  but 
before  I  could  do  so  Margaret  stepped  up  to  the  sergeant, 
and  taking  him  by  the  sleeve  whispered  a  few  words  in 
his  ear.  He  thereupon  gave  some  instructions  in  Gaelic 
to  his  men,  who  closed  round  me  and  the  priest,  and, 
moving  off  a  few  paces  with  her,  they  spake  earnestly 
together  for  a  little.  What  she  said  I  do  not  know,  but 
in  a  moment  he  faced  about,  and  picking  up  the  Ian- 
thorn,  examined  me  in  turn. 

*'  Your  name  and  rank,  sir  ?"  he  said  to  me. 

*'Hugh  Maxwell,  captain." 

"  God  bless  me,  sir !  But  this  is  not  the  first  time  I 
have  heard  your  name,  nor  seen  you,  if  you'll  excuse  my 
saying  it,"  he  said,  most  earnestly. 

"  Like  enough.     What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Neil  Murray,  sir." 

"  And  a  very  good  name  it  is ;  but  I  cannot  say  I  re- 
call it." 

*'  But  you  will  remember  the  march  to  Derby,  sir,  and 
Lord  George  ?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

**I  am  never  likely  to  forget  it.     Were  you  there  ?" 

»71 


■»WgiVi#<MW»- 


d;     < 


l» 

, 

■  : 

i  , 

8    - 

i 

1 

. 

H' 

i 

'I 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

"Where  else  would  I  be  when  my  grandfather  was 
own  cousin  to  his?" 

"Then  I  suppose  there's  no  treason  now  in  shaking 
hands  over  so  old  a  story,  Neil  ?"  I  said,  extending  my 
hand,  which  he  grasped  heartily,  and  relations  were  es- 
tablished between  us. 

He  then  turned  to  the  priest.  "Your  name,  your 
reverence  ?" 

"Le  p6re  Jean,  missionary." 

"Well,  gentlemen,  it  cannot  be  helped.  You  must 
both  follow  us  into  the  town." 

He  gave  his  orders  briefly,  and  blowing  out  the  Ian- 
thorn,  took  Margaret  by  the  arm,  supporting  her  as  one 
might  a  wounded  man,  and  so  we  set  off.  It  was  evi- 
dent the  quick-witted  sergeant  possessed  that  invaluable 
qualification  of  the  successful  soldier,  the  readiness  to 
carry  out  as  well  as  to  devise  a  plan  ;  for  in  handling  the 
lanthorn  he  had  never  once  allowed  the  light  to  fall  on 
Margaret,  and  by  his  happy  pretence  of  her  being  wound- 
ed, he  avoided  the  awkward  necessity  of  handing  over 
the  command  to  her  as  his  superior.  That  he  would  do 
his  best  to  shelter  her  from  any  scrutiny  or  questioning 
was  evident,  and  I  was  too  thankful  for  the  result  to 
puzzle  over  the  probable  means  by  which  it  was  attained. 
As  like  as  not,  by  the  very  simple  expedient  of  telling 
the  truth  —  a  wonderfully  efficacious  measure  at  times, 
when  you  know  your  man. 

A  quick,  hard  scramble  brought  us  down  to  the  level 
of  the  Palais ;  we  passed  the  Intendance,  black  and  de- 
serted, and  so  on  towards  the  foot  of  the  Cote  du  Palais. 
When  we  reached  the  gate  the  sergeant  halted  us;  the 
sign  and  countersign  were  given,  whereupon  the  wicket 
was  opened. 

Passing  his  arm  about  Margaret,  who  leaned  upon  Lim 
heavily,  the  sergeant  skilfully  mterposed  himself  between 
her  and  the  officer  in  charge,  and  gave  his  report :  "  Neil 

273 


ther  was 

shaking 
iding  my 
were  es- 

me,  your 

ou  must 

the  lan- 
er  as  one 

was  evi- 
ivaluable 
diness  to 
dling  the 
to  fall  on 
g  wound- 
iing  over 
would  do 
estioning 
result  to 
attained, 
of  telling 
at  times, 

the  level 
k.  and  de- 
lu  Palais. 
I  us;  the 
lie  wicket 

upon  him 
f  between 
t:  "Neil 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 

Murray,  sergeant,  78th,  six  men,  two  prisoners,  and  one 
of  our  own,  wounded,"  and  on  we  marched  up  the  slip- 
pery hill  without  a  moment's  unnecessary  delay. 

As  soon  as  we  were  beyond  sight  of  the  gate  our  pace 
was  slackened,  and,  now  that  all  immediate  danger  of 
discovery  for  Margaret  was  at  an  end,  I  fell  to  wondering 
at  the  extraordinary  chance  which  again  brought  me  face 
to  face  with  her  who  had  proved  the  turning-point  in  my 
life.  Little  by  little  I  pieced  out  the  puzzle,  and  the 
more  I  brought  it  together,  the  more  I  wondered,  but  in 
a  vague,  disjointed  fashion,  that  led  to  no  solution.  My 
confused  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  our  party  halting 
in  front  of  the  Convent  of  the  Ursulines,  where,  to  my 
relief,  I  saw  the  sergeant  lead  Margaret  round  towards 
the  side  entrance. 

*'May  I  ask  where  you  are  taking  us  ?"  I  said,  when 
we  again  began  our  march,  putting  the  question  more  to 
set  my  mind  working  again  than  out  of  curiosity. 

*' Where  else  would  we  be  going  but  to  the  General  ?" 

*'  And  where  has  he  found  quarters  in  this  stone  heap  ? 
You  have  made  a  fine  mess  of  things  with  your  batter- 
ing," I  said,  for  the  evidence  of  their  fire  on  the  town 
was  surprising. 

"  Have  we  not !"  he  exclaimed,  with  true  soldierly 
pride.  *'But  there  will  be  a  corner  or  two,  here  and 
there,  that  was  out  of  our  reach.  It  was  a  God's  mercy 
for  ourselves  that  we  didn't  have  our  will  of  the  whole 
town,  or  there's  many  a  poor  fellow  would  have  made  a 
bad  winter  of  it." 

"I  dare  say  you  found  it  bad  enough  as  it  was,  eh, 
Neil  ?" 

'*  You  may  say  that,  sir  !  There's  been  a  deal  to  put 
up  with  for  both  high  and  low.  But  here  we  will  be  at 
the  General's." 

As  he  spake  we  drew  up  before  a  house  in  the  rue  St. 
Louis,  and  were  ushered  into  an  anteroom,  where  we 
■  273 


i 


■i^HMjt|Mi>>^<4  -jxni'v'^^im 


'  ! 


1 

1     . 

f 

1 

f 

1 

.         1 

pfr 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

were  left  under  guard,  while  our  conductor  departed  to 
make  his  report. 

I  was  not  permitted  to  speak  with  my  fellow-prisoner, 
and  so  went  back  to  my  wonderings.  It  was  Margaret — 
that  is,  Mme.  de  St.  Just — who  hud  befriended  Lucy  on 
shipboard,  and  protected  her  since.  What  a  marvellous 
happening,  that  these  two  women,  of  all  others  in  the 
world,  should  have  thus  been  thrown  together  I  That 
she  now  knew  of  my  relation  towards  Lucy  I  could  not 
doubt ;  and  though  I  had  preferred  it  might  have  come 
about  otherwise,  I  bitterly  reflected  that  an  estimate  of  my 
character  was  no  longer  of  supreme  importance  to  her, 
now  she  was  a  married  woman.  Though  I  had  been  do- 
ing my  utmost  all  these  years  of  ixile  to  school  myself  to 
a  frame  of  mind  in  which  I  might  look  upon  her  as  un- 
approachable for  me,  now  that  I  found  an  insurmount- 
able barrier  existed,  not  of  my  own  raising,  with  the  in- 
consistence of  mankind,  I  straight  rebelled  against  it. 
What  a  climax  to  every  irony  of  fate  !  To  find  myself 
free,  and  she,  whom  I  had  so  hopelessly  loved,  another's. 
Yet  what  did  the  priest  mean  when  he  said  he  had  been 
trying  to  keep  me  from  her  ?  I  looked  across  the  room 
at  his  impassive  face,  and  felt  I  would  give  much  for  five 
minutes  alone  with  him.  Then  an  explanation  would  be 
forthcoming  in  some  shape. 

From  this  coil  1  was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  an 
officer  to  summon  us  into  the  presence  of  the  General, 
and  for  the  first  time  I  considered  my  personal  situation. 
Not  that  I  had  anything  to  fear,  for,  in  those  days,  war 
was  a  profession,  and  an  officer  was  treated  as  a  gentleman 
by  his  opponent  once  active  hostilities  ceased,  or  were 
even  suspended ;  but  the  consequence  of  my  capture 
would  certainly  mean  for  me  the  loss  of  any  advantage 
I  might  otherwise  have  gained  from  our  success.  Now 
my  name  would  figure  in  no  despatches,  unless  as  '*miss- 

274 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 


mg,"  a  bitter  disappointment,  when  I  had  so  slowly  and 
painfully  gained  something  of  a  position.  But  I  had  no 
time  to  reason  it  out  before  we  had  crossed  the  threshold 
of  the  General's  room. 

He  was  a  clear-featured,  bright-eyed  man  of  thirty-five 
or  forty,  visibly  harassed  with  the  hard  fortune  of  the  day, 
but  he  did  not  allow  his  preoccupation  to  affect  his  bear- 
ing towards  us. 

"  Reverend  sir,"  he  said,  addressing  the  priest,  '*I  take 
it  for  granted  you  are  a  non-combatant,  but  as  it  has  fall- 
en to  your  lot  to  be  brought  within  our  lines,  you  must 
perforce  remain  a  prisoner.  If  you  will  satisfy  me  as  to 
your  name  and  position,  I  shall  judge  if  I  can  grant  you 
the  less  galling  restrictions  of  parole." 

The  priest  smiled.  "  I  appreciate  the  reasonableness 
of  the  condition,  your  Excellency.  My  full  name  is  Jean 
Marie  Gaston  de  Caldegues,  Vicomte  de  Trincardel,  but 
for  years  I  have  borne  none  other  than  '  le  p6re  Jean, 
missionary  to  the  Indians.' " 

*'  That  is  perfectly  satisfactory,  sir.  I  shall  be  pleased 
to  allow  you  parole  within  the  walls,  only  restricting  you 
from  approaching  those  parts  of  the  town  where  our  de- 
fences are  now  placed.  I  shall  give  you  an  order  for 
quarters  at  the  Ursulines,  though  doubtless  the  good  la- 
dies would  readily  receive  you  even  without  my  introduc- 
tion." As  he  spake  he  accompanied  the  priest  to  the 
door,  where  ho  gave  his  instructions  to  an  aide  in 
waiting. 

lie  then  turned  to  me  and  extended  his  hand.  "  Chev- 
alier, we  have  already  had  the  pleasure  of  some  slight 
correspondence." 

**  I  have  to  thank  your  Excellency  for  as  great  a  cour- 
tesy as  one  man  can  shew  towards  another.  When  I 
wrote,  I  ventured  to  mention  my  acquaintance  with  your 
Excellencv's  brother,  Lord  Eli  bank,  not  that  I  relied  on 
anything  else  than  your  Excellency's  natural  sensibility 

375 


r '] 


f  /'  ^ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


i 


if 


;' 


a 


i     ii 


W' 


iii 


for  the  acceptance  of  my  request,  but  that  I  might  in 
that  manner  help  to  establish  my  identity.'' 

*' Believe  me,  Chevalier,"  he  returned,  with  emphasis, 
"  that  was  totally  unnecessary.  I  was  quite  aware  that 
you  were  in  Canada.  A  man  does  not  easily  slip  out  of 
sight  so  long  as  he  remains  among  his  own  class." 

*^  Your  Excellency  overwhelms  me  ;  such  a  recognition 
goes  far  to  make  up  for  the  years  of  disappointment  1 
have  endured." 

*'Then  let  us  speak  plainly,  without  further  compli- 
ments on  either  side,"  he  said,  smiling  gravely. 

"Nothing  could  please  me  better,  your  Excellency." 

"  It  will  not  even  be  necessary  to  keep  up  the  '  Excel- 
lency.' I  shall  call  you  Kirkconnel,  after  the  good  homely 
Scots'  fashion,  if  you  have  not  forgotten." 

"  Forgotten  !  That  is  one  of  the  curses  of  my  Scotch 
blood.     I  cannot  forget !" 

**  Then  there  is  hope  for  you  yet,  Kirkconnel  I  For 
you  have  something  behind  you  worth  remembering." 

**  I  cannot  say  it  oppresses  me  with  any  great  sense  of 
obligation,  for  I  would  find  some  difficulty  in  naming  it 
at  the  moment." 

"  Tut,  tut,  man  !"  he  exclaimed,  heartily.  '*  Don't 
tell  me  that  a  man  who  played  his  part  as  well  as  you  in 
'45  need  mourn  over  it." 

"  We're  getting  out  tov/ards  the  thin  ice  now,  are  we 
not,  General  ?" 

"  Not  for  me  ;  though  I  dare  say  some  members  of  my 
house  might  have  to  guard  their  steps  more  carefully. 
But  to  go  on  :  you  followed  what  you  and  your  forbears 
held  to  be  The  Cause,  and  to  which  you  held  your  honour 
pledged,  and  you  saw  it  through  to  the  bitter  end.  Then, 
instead  of  mixing  yourself  up  in  a  miserable  farrago  of 
pot-house  plots  and  chamber-mysteries  which  have  only 
served  to  turn  some  honest  men  into  rogues,  you  have 
acted  like  a  soldier,  and  done  only  a  soldier's  work.    And, 

276 


'.  il 


"'I   TAKK   IT   FOU  OKANTKD   YOU    AKK   A    NON-t OMIJATANT 


I,  1 


■witpinww 


■/; 


M 


'  ! 


I'     I 


I  !    I*' 


i  <i 


s, 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 

best  of  all,  you  have  succeeded.    You  have  much  that  is 
worth  remembering,  Kirkconnel !" 

**  Your  Excellency  is  most  kind." 

"  I  prefer  to  be  plain.  Why  not  drop  this  whole  busi- 
ness .'' 

*'  How  can  I  ?  You  would  not  urge  me  to  come  over 
because  I  happen  to  be  a  prisoner  to-day  ?  I  may  be  ex- 
changed to-morrow." 

'*  That  you  shall  not,  Til  answer  for  it  I  I  have  no  in- 
tention to  give  M.  de  L6vis  the  assistance  of  even  one 
more  artillery  officer,  if  I  can  help  it.  No,  no  !  I  shall 
keep  you  fast  while  I  can,  but  'tis  only  in  the  event  of 
my  holding  the  winning  cards  in  this  affair  that  I  would 
urge  you  to  send  in  your  submlasion  and  take  your  place 
beside  us,  your  natural  comrades,  where  you  belong. 
What  chance  of  promotion,  or  even  of  recognition,  will 
you  run,  if  M.  de  Levis  has  to  leave  Canada  in  our 
hands  ?" 

"  None  whatever.  I  have  never  deceived  myself  for  a 
moment  on  that  point." 

**  Then  be  sensible,  and,  like  a  sensible  man,  make  a 
sensible  move  when  the  time  comes !"  he  exclaimed,  with 
the  greatest  good  feeling. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  too  old  a  fool  to  be  sensible  at  any 
time  on  such  a  subject.  But  I  thank  your  Excellency 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,"  I  returned,  as  warmly. 

''  Nonsense,  man  I  I  would  not  have  spoken  had  I 
not  been  taken  with  you.  But  there  !  I  am  not  a  recruit- 
ing officer,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Think  well  over 
what  I  have  said ;  I  am  not  pressing  for  an  answer." 
Thereupon  he  turned  the  subject,  and  we  fell  into  a  con- 
versation over  the  events  of  the  past  summer  and  win- 
ter. I  answered  such  questions  as  I  could  in  regard  to 
our  present  position,  for  there  was  no  advantage  to  be 
gained  by  undue  concealment,  and  his  consideration 
spared  me  any  embarrassment. 

277 


• 

11 


Hi 


fv 


,■ 


/  li 


MMHMtNtMWfkMBI^Wsw 


1/  ? 


1^ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

When  onr  interview  ended  he  thanked  me  very  hand- 
somely, and  regretted  he  could  not  offer  me  the  hospi- 
tality of  his  own  roof,  but  provided  for  me  in  the  Ursu- 
lines,  granting  me  the  same  parole  as  the  priest. 

*'  You  will  find  among  your  countrymen  an  odd  rebel 
here  and  there,  Kirkconnel ;  but  I  rely  on  you  to  stir  up 
no  fresh  treason  with  *  White  Cockades/  or  *  Bonnie 
Charlies,'  or  any  other  of  the  old  shibboleths." 

"  Have  no  anxieties  on  that  score,  your  Excellency  ;  I 
have  had  too  rude  an  awakening  ever  to  fall  a-dreaming 
again,  *  The  burnt  child  !'  "  And  I  bowed,  and  left  in 
company  with  the  officer  told  off  to  see  to  my  reception. 

The  General's  unlooked-for  sympathy  had  gone  far  to 
restore  me  to  my  natural  bearing  for  the  moment.  It  is 
flattering  to  any  man  to  be  received  by  his  military  su- 
perior as  a  social  equal,  and  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should 
pretend  to  a  susceptibility  less  than  the  ordinary.  I  was 
greatly  pleased,  therefore,  by  his  recognition,  and  to  my 
admiration  of  his  soldierly  qualities  was  now  added  a 
warm  appreciation  of  his  interest  in  me  and  my  fortunes. 
But  no  personal  gratification  could  long  blind  me  to  the 
misery  of  my  real  position.  Chance,  inclination,  and,  I 
think  I  may  honestly  add,  principle,  had  kept  my  affec- 
tions disengaged  and,  my  heart  whole,  without  any  rea- 
sonable expectation  of  ever  realising  my  life's  desire,  and 
now  I  had  stumbled  upon  it,  only  to  find  it  inexorably 
withheld  from  me,  and  every  avenue  to  its  attainment 
closed.  Could  I  have  gone  on  to  the  end  without  actu- 
ally meeting  with  Margaret,  I  could  have  borne  it  with 
the  silent  endurance  which  had  supported  me  so  far,  and 
had,  in  large  measure,  become  a  habit ;  but  now  every 
regret,  every  passionate  longing,  every  haunting  memory 
which  time  had  lulled  into  seeming  slumber,  awoke  to 
wring  my  heart  at  the  very  moment  when  I  believed  the 
bitterness  to  have  passed  forever. 

378 


[ 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY   DILEMMA 


ry  hand- 
e  hospi- 
iie  Ursn- 

►dd  rebel 
o  Btir  up 
*  Bonnie 

lency;  T 
ireaming 
id  left  in 
sception. 

ne  far  to 
nt.  It  is 
litary  su- 
,  I  should 
y.  I  was 
nd  to  my 

added  a 
fortunes, 
me  to  the 
3n,  and,  I 
my  affec- 

any  rea- 
esire,  and 
nexorably 
ttainment 
lout  actu- 
le  it  with 
,0  far,  and 
low  every 
g  memory 

awoke  to 
lieved  the 


The  first  to  welcome  me  at  the  convent  was  my  8on 
Kit.  Heavens !  how  tall  and  well-looking  the  boy  had 
grown,  and  with  what  feeling  did  I  take  him  in  my  arms. 
He  returned  my  embrace  with  equal  affection,  and  when 
we  settled  down,  spake  of  his  mother's  death  with  much 
natural  feeling. 

Poor  Lucy  !  She  had  had  a  narrow  life  of  it  with  the 
exception  of  the  year  we  had  lived  together.  What  a 
light-hearted,  merry  little  soul  she  then  was !  She  had 
no  education  in  the  general  sense,  but  was  possessed  of 
so  lively  a  sympathy  that  she  entered  into  all  that  ap- 
pealed to  me  with  an  enjoyment  and  an  appreciation  that 
no  mere  learning  could  have  supplied.  She  may  have 
lacked  the  bearing  and  carriage  of  a  great  lady,  but  what 
stateliness  of  manner  can  rival  the  pretty  softnesses  of  a 
gentle  girl  wholly  in  love.  She  was  not  strictly  beautiful, 
but  she  had  the  charm  of  constant  liveliness,  and  her  un- 
failing content  and  merriment  more  than  made  up  for 
any  irregularity  in  feature.  This  was  the  woman  I  had 
left,  and  I  have  already  told  what  she  was  when  I  re- 
turned. It  was  not  so  much  her  nature  that  was  at  fault, 
poor  thing  !  as  the  atrophy  of  soul  resulting  from  an  un- 
generous form  of  religion. 

I  cannot  but  think  it  safer  for  both  man  and  woman  to 
continue  in  those  religions  which  have  received  the  sanc- 
tion of  authority,  than  take  up  with  any  new  ventures, 
no  matter  what  superior  offers  of  salvation  they  may 
hold  out.  And  the  first  step  towards  this  dangerous 
ground  I  believe  to  be  that  pernicious  habit  of  idle  spec- 
ulation on  subjects  too  sacred  for  open  discussion,  which 
might  well  be  left  to  their  ordained  guardians,  and  not 
to  the  curious  guessings  of  simple  and  unsophisticated 
minds. 

Kit  had  much  information  to  give  touching  others  in 
whom  I  was  interested.  Of  Mme.  de  St.  Just  he  spake, 
as  I  would  have  expected,  with  the  warmest  admiration 

279 


i! 


1      1 


'r 


^mm 


mmm 


!P"S 


i  i 


m 


Iffc' 


I     J 


\      I 


1 

%,i 

ill 

THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

»nd  gratitude ;  but  after  he  had  informed  me  that  she 
WW  an  inmate  of  the  same  convent  in  which  we  were,  I 
turned  the  conversation  towards  her  brother,  who,  I 
learned,  was  wounded  sufficiently  to  be  under  the  sur- 
geon's care,  and  was  pleased  to  gather  that  Master  Kit 
had  made  a  respectable  showing  for  himself  in  the  rescue 
of  his  Captain.  That  Mademoiselle  de  Sarennes  was 
much  concerned  in  Nairn's  condition  I  was  glad  to  hear, 
as  such  an  interest  could  not  fail  to  be  of  service  when 
she  should  learn  of  her  brother's  fate,  of  which  I  took  care 
to  make  no  mention,  as  I  had  no  desire  to  figure  as  the 
bearer  of  what  must,  to  her,  prove  painful  tidings. 

"  Your  Captain  is  fortunate  to  engage  the  sympathies 
of  so  fair  an  enemy,"  was  my  only  remark. 

**Why,  father,  we  do  not  look  on  them  as  enemies  at 
all  I"  he  returned,  with  the  ingenuousness  of  his  years. 

"  Look  you  here.  Master  Kit,  I  cannot  have  you  call- 
ing me  '  father ' ;  it  has  altogether  too  responsible  a 
sound,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  begin  and  bring  you  to  book 
for  matters  which  may,  later  on,  call  for  a  parent's  judg- 
ment. Call  me  'Chevalier,'  if  you  like,  it  is  more  com- 
panionable, and  it  is  as  comrades  you  and  I  must  live, 
unless  you  wish  to  have  me  interfering  with  you  in  a 
manner  you  might  naturally  enough  resent  later  on.  I 
love  you  heartily  my  boy,  and  it  is  love,  not  authority,  I 
wish  to  be  the  bond  between  us.  What  do  you  say 
yourself  ?" 

"It  can  never  be  anything  less  than  that,  sir  .    vo 
know  how  I  was  drawn  to  you  that  very  first  n         aj, 
when  I  entered  your  room  in  Wych  Street ;  you  \s     e  the 
finest  gentleman  I  had  ever  seen." 

*' Well,  you  have  seen  better  since.  Kit." 

**None  better  to  me,  sir."  And  he  added,  hurriedly, 
as  if  to  cover  his  emotion,  "  Will  you  come  over  to  us, 
now  that  we  are  victorious  ?" 

"Oh,  Kit,  Kit,  you  are  a  t  ue  Englishman  !    Victori- 

280 


I 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 


Vo- 

^the 


ons  I  Why,  great  Heavens  I  We  beat  yon  fifty  times 
over,  only  to-day  !  Not  that  it  will  make  any  great  mat- 
ter in  the  long  run,  perhaps,  for  it  is  no  qucHtion  of  a 
single  battle  for  either  Levis  or  Murray,  it  is  the  arrival 
of  the  first  ships  which  will  decide  this  affair.  Wait  un- 
til they  come  up,  and  then  it  will  be  time  enough  to  talk 
of  victory." 

The  lad's  face  fell.  **I  mean  for  ourselves,"  he  said, 
wistfully;  "this  can't  go  on  with  us  on  different 
sides." 

"That  is  a  serious  matter  for  the  principals,  no  doubt, 
Kit;  but  we  need  not  worry  over  it,  for  I  am  not  likely 
to  be  exchanged,  the  way  things  now  are." 

"  But  when  it  is  decided  ?" 

"  Your  way.  Kit  ?" 

"  I  mean  if  it  is  decided  our  way,"  he  corrected. 
"  You  will  come  back  ?" 

"  Come  back  to  what  ?  You  forget  I  am  still  a  pro- 
scribed rebel  with  a  price  on  my  head." 

"  But  that  is  long  past." 

"So  Dr.  Archie  Cameron  thought,  but  they  hanged 
him  like  a  dog  not  so  many  years  ago,  and  I  do  not 
know  that  he  was  deeper  in  the  affair  than  I.  That  I 
am  not  a  very  ardent  rebel,  I  will  confess ;  but  I  have 
grown  too  old  in  rebellion  to  shift  my  character  readily. 
Besides,  I  fancy  I  am  more  of  a  Frenchman  than  an 
Englishman,  or  even  a  Scotchman  ;  and  the  worst  of 
such  a  transmogrification  is,  that  one  grows  used  to  it, 
and  change  becomes  wellnigh  impossible.  But  you 
have  chosen  wisely,  my  boy.  I  wouldn't  have  you  dif- 
feront  for  the  world  !" 

It  is  not  for  myself  I  speak.  I  am  thinking  of  you, 
oi^ 

God  bless  you.  Kit !  I  would  rather  have  those 
w  Is  from  you  than  a  free  pardon.  And  now  good- 
night, or  rather,  good-day.     You  have  your  duties  be- 

281 


P 


'/I 


f 


THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 

fore  you,  and  I  must  get  some  sleep;"  and  I  embraced 
the  generous  boy  with  a  full  heart. 


I 
1. 1 


u 


> 


li': 


I  ' 


<\ 


The  next  afternoon  1  set  out  to  look  over  the  town 
and  mark  the  effect  of  ihe  English  fire  during  the  bom- 
bardment, and  could  not  but  admire  how  destructive  it 
had  been,  nor  withhold  my  approval  of  the  efforts  the 
garrison  had  put  forth  during  the  past  winter  to  repair 
the  results  of  thoir  own  handiwork. 

As  I  wandered  round  the  Cape  I  caught  sight  of  le 
p6re  Jean  leaning  against  the  parapet  of  la  batterie  du 
Clerge,  gloomily  surveying  the  dismal  prospect  of  a  river 
full  of  driftin<]j  ice  and  a  desolate  and  half-frozen  coun- 
try beyond. 

He  turned  as  I  approached,  and  greeted  me  with  a  re- 
turn of  the  manner  that  was  once  habitual  with  him. 
"  I  was  glad  to  hear  you  found  friends  last  night, 
Chevalier." 

"Thank  you,  yes.  I  fo.:nd  friends  both  new  and  old," 
I  answered,  glancing  at  him  curiously. 

But  he  had  turned  towards  the  river  again,  and  waved 
his  hand  outward.  **  This  is  all  emblematic  of  our  for- 
tress. I  fear — dissolution,"  he  said,  wearily. 

"One  might  descant  on  the  promise  of  spring  and  the 
renewal  of  hope,  but  in  reality  I  gather  as  little  from  the 
prospect  as  you  do,"  I  returned.  And  side  by  side  we 
leaned  over  the  parapet,  and  continued  to  indulge  our 
cheerless  speculations  in  silence. 

**  Chevalier,"  said  the  priest,  suddenly,  but  in  his 
usual  tone,  and  without  changing  his  position,  "  per- 
haps I  owe  you  a  more  formal  apology  than  was  pos- 
sible last  night ;  but  whou  I  found  that  Mademoiselle 
Nairn—" 

"  Alme.  de  St.  Just,"  T  corrected. 

"  It  is  scarce  worth  while  to  keep  up  that  ^ction  be- 
tween us,"  he  said,  as  if  waiving  the  most  ordinary  form 

282 


mm 


mmmm 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 


!    - 


Qbraced 


le  town 
lie  bom- 
ictive  it 
)rts  the 

0  repair 

it  of  le 
terie  du 

1  a  river 
n  coun- 

th  a  re- 

th  him. 

night, 

id  old," 

I  waved 
our  for- 

and  the 
rom  the 
side  we 
Ige  our 

in  his 
"  per- 
*^as  pos- 
moiseile 


tion  be- 
,ry  form 


in  the  world,  and  in  some  manner  I  checked  the  cry  of 
astonishment  that  was  on  my  lips,  and  remained  silent 
while  he  continued.  "  When  I  found  Mademoiselle 
Nairn  in  your  company,  I  too  hastily  assumed  that  it  was 
by  design  on  your  part." 

I  was  so  bewildered  by  this  unconscious  revelation 
that  I  could  make  no  reply ;  but,  fortunately,  he  did  not 
mark  my  agitation,  and  went  on  as  though  speaking  to 
himself:  "Right  or  wrong,  I  have  been  the  means  of 
keeping  her  from  you  thus  far  ;  and  if  I  have  sinned  in 
so  doing,  I  must  bear  the  consequence." 

As  he  spake  he  turned  and  faced  me,  but  by  this  I 
had  recovered  c^ommand  of  myself,  and  saw  that  his 
thin  face  was  flushed  and  drawn  with  suffering.  "Let 
me  go  on,"  he  said,  with  decision.  "  I  owe  an  expla- 
nation to  myself  as  well  as  to  you." 

Just  what  he  said  I  cannot  clearly  recall.  The  revela- 
tion he  had  made  was  so  astounding,  had  so  completely 
changed  the  whole  complexion  of  my  outlook,  that  my 
brain  could  scarce  apprehend  the  import  of  his  words. 
I  only  realised  that  Margaret  was  no  longer  beyond  my 
reach.     The  rest  mattered  not  one  whit. 

When  he  ceased  speaking,  I  briefly  exposed  what  had 
been  my  position  throughout,  without  reserve  or  argu- 
ment, leaving  it  to  him  to  draw  his  own  conclusion. 

"  Chevalier,"  cried  the  priest,  heartily,  as  I  ended,  "I 
feel  that  any  apology  would  be  frivolous  in  the  face  of 
what  you  have  told  me,  but  I  can  assure  you  no  man 
was  ever  more  satisfied  to  find  himself  in  the  wrong 
than  I." 

"I  take  that  as  more  than  any  apology,"  I  returned, 
as  sincerely.  "But  to  return  to  ISarenues.  What  use 
did  he  make  of  my  letter  ?" 

"He  attempted  sucii  a  use  that  the  outcome  of  your 
meeting  with  him  is  fully  justified." 

**  It  was  justified  as  it  was  !"  I  objected.     "  I  do  not 

283 


I  i 


mmmmmimmm 


nww 


MNbiuiii^v^  M  WW*  1'^ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


[f  * 


'  '11 


U 


fight  on  trifles.  Do  you  mean,  he  tried  to  persuade 
Margaret  that  it  referred  to  her  ?'" 

**  He  did.  And  ihough  I  was  enabled  to  save  her  from 
personal  danger,  I  coald  do  nothing  to  relieve  the  dis- 
tress he  had  wrought  by  these  means." 

"■  The  hound  I  It  would  have  been  a  satisfaction  to 
have  known  this  when  I  met  liim." 

"  Remember,  though,  it  is  entirely  owing  to  the  loy- 
alty of  his  mother  and  sister  that  her  position  here  has 
been  possible." 

**  That  is  true ;  but  I  see  as  clearly,  that  her  recep- 
tion by  them  was  only  possible  through  your  answering 
for  her.     I  owe  you  everything." 

"  You  owe  me  much,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  if  to  him- 
self. And  at  the  simple  words  of  self-abnegation  my 
heart  ached  at  the  thought  of  the  pain  I  had  involun- 
tarily caused. 

*'  I  am  sorry  for  any  family  that  holds  so  black  a  sheep 
as  Sarennes,"  I  said,  to  break  the  awkward  pause  that 
followed. 

**  His  family  need  know  nothing,  beyond  that  he  died 
on  the  field  of  battle,  a  much  more  desirable  fate  than 
he  was  likely  to  meet  with  in  France,  had  he  lived  ;  for, 
believe  me,  information  has  gone  forward  that  will  in- 
sure the  trial  and,  I  trust,  the  punishment  of  every  pec- 
ulator who  has  helped  to  ruin  this  miserable  colony,  no 
matter  which  way  the  present  crisis  may  turn." 

"  Now  that  we  have  confidence  in  each  other,  may  I 
ask  why  you  never  let  me  know  of  your  presence  in 
Canada  ?" 

''  To  be  frank,  I  had  no  desire  to  awaken  old  associa- 
tions. So  far  as  I  knew  the  past  was  a  book  that  had 
been  read  and  done  with.  Nothing  was  to  be  gained  by 
reopening  it  under  the  same  conditions,  and  I  had  no 
reason  to  suppose  they  could  be  altered.  Remember  it 
is  only  now  my  eyes  have  been  opened,  and  I  see  the 

284 


I    FIND    A    KEY    TO    MY    DILEMMA 

error  of  my  warped  and  ignorant  judgment.     We  have 
travelled  a  long  road,  Chevalier,  to  meet  in  friendship 
and  I  am  glad  we  can  so  meet  at  last.     I  always  regret 
when  my  feeling  towards  an  honourable  man  cannot  go 
beyond  mere  liking." 

''Gaston,"  I  cried,  '<I  never  received  so  handsome  a 
compliment  in  all  my  life  !" 

285 


i , 


il 


t 


I 


f 


rjT^ 


m 


# 


i'i 


CHAPTER   XXVTII 


I   MAKE   A   FALSE    MOVE 


I  CAN  make  no  pretence  to  marshal  the  train  of  thought 
that  swept  through  my  brain  when  the  priest  took  his 
way  and  left  me  to  myself.  Engrossed  as  I  was  with 
my  own  affairs,  I  could  not  but  speculate  on  the  curious 
chance  that  had  driven  him  into  a  life  of  renunciation 
and  me  to  one  of  exile  at  the  same  time  and  for  the  same 
cause,  and  that  now  brought  us  together  before  the 
woman  we  both  loved.  I  use  the  word  advisedly  and 
without  any  reflection  on  his  integrity;  but  it  would  be 
an  insult  to  my  intelligence  could  1  look  on  his  face, 
worn  by  suffering  and  emotion,  and  mark  the  tone  of 
his  voice,  and,  most  confirmatory  of  all,  the  jealous  care 
with  which  he  avoided  any  mention  of  her  name,  and 
not  acknowledge  the  presence  there  of  the  gentlest  pas- 
sion that  ever  refined  the  soul  of  man.  He  had  found 
abundant  opportunity  for  self-denial  and  sacrifice  in  the 
career  he  had  chosen,  but  I  doubted  if  he  had  found 
either  peace  or  entire  resignation.  During  his  interview 
with  General  Murray,  and  especially  during  his  familiar 
talk  with  me,  I  had  caught  a  dozen  reflections  of  his  old 
bearing  and  manner,  and  I  could  not  believe  he  had  laid 
aside  all  human  longings  nd  emotions,  liowever  he  might 
refuse  to  recognise  them,  when  ho  doffed  the  outward 
habit  of  his  class  for  the  soutane  and  shovel  hat  of  the 
Jesuit.     It  were  childish  to  think  so. 

Thus  occupied  I  sate  heedless  of  the  hours  that  went 
by,  until  chilled  by  the  change  of  the  day  to  evening. 

286 


1    MAKE    A    FALSE    MOVE 

As  I  moved  slowly  towards  my  quarters,  the  only  result 
of  the  hours  of  solitary  thought  that  remained  by  me, 
was  that  Margaret  was  unmarried,  and  that  she  had  come 
out  to  meet  with  me  and  for  this  alone. 


That  same  evening  I  paid  my  respects  to  the  Superior, 
la  m^re  de  la  Nativity,  a  well-bred  woman,  who  should 
have  graced  the  world  rather  than  a  convent,  and  to  her 
I  proffered  my  request  that  1  might  be  allowed  to  wait 
upon  Mme.  de  St.  Just. 

"Most  certainly,  monsieur,  if  it  be  her  desire.  She 
is  a  guest  to  whom  we  owe  much.  If  you  will  permit,  I 
will  send  and  inquire." 

In  a  few  moments  the  sister  sent  returned  with  word 
that  Mme.  de  St.  Just  would  see  the  Chevalier  de  Max- 
well at  eleven  the  next  morning. 

**  Very  well,  monsieur,  you  may  then  meet  her  here  in 
the  parlour,"  added  the  Superior,  pleasantly,  and  I  bowed 
my  thanks  and  withdrew. 

I  spent  the  night  in  great  unrest,  inventing  imaginary 
diflBculties  when  I  overthrew  those  which  really  existed, 
picturing  the  expected  interview  in  a  thousand  forms, 
framing  and  reframing  every  appeal  I  should  make,  and 
so  wore  out  the  night  in  a  fever  of  consuming  antici- 
pation. 

I  was  thankful  I  had  been  captured  while  on  staff  duty; 
for  I  had  ever  made  it  a  practice  to  dress  myself  with 
the  most  scrupulous  attention  when  going  into  action,  so 
that  death  himself  might  not  find  me  unjirepured — and, 
thanks  to  this,  I  was  now  enabled  to  make  a  fitting  ap- 
pearance. 

The  feeling  that  I  was  outwardly  prepared  went  far  to 
reassure  me,  and  when  the  time  came  for  my  meeting  I 
had  banished  my  uneasy  apprehensions  of  the  night,  and 
recovered  my  habitual  confidence.  My  sole  anxiety  was, 
lest  I  should  fail  in  conveying  an  adequate  impression  of 

287 


IV 


I! 


M 


is 


■<  •*,.'.O.KSW.-i«;r'ira^ '«.-;' 


]>' 


,.•4 


!' 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

my  appreciation  of  her  sacrifice  and  undertaking  for  my 
sake,  but  when  1  saw  her  every  doubting  fled. 

I  do  not  know  how  she  was  dressed,  beyond  that  it 
served  but  to  heighten  her  queenly  beauty  ;  which,  rcire 
as  I  remembered  it,  had  now  grown  and  developed  be- 
yond all  my  faint  conceptions.  Her  amber  hair  had 
deepened  into  the  richest  auburn,  its  colour  was  un- 
disguised by  powder,  and  its  abundance  undistorted  by 
the  art  of  the  hair-dresser.  Her  eyes  were  steady,  and 
clear,  and  truthful ;  every  line  of  her  face  had  rounded 
out  the  promise  of  her  youth,  and  her  shape  and  carriage 
were  divine.     She  moved  like  a  goddess. 

*'  Margaret,"  I  said,  as  I  advanced  towards  her,  forget- 
ting all  the  openings  I  had  so  carefully  rehearsed,  **  I  can 
scarce  believe  I  am  awake.  It  seems  incredible  I  should 
speak  face  to  face  with  you  here." 

"  It  is  indeed  a  strange  meeting,"  she  returned.  The 
words  were  nothing,  but  they  were  spoken  in  a  tone  of 
perfect  quiet  and  control,  without  any  trace  of  the  emo- 
tion that  broke  my  voice  and  dissipated  my  self-possession. 

"  It  is  a  meeting  for  which  I  have  dreamed,  but  tried 
not  to  hope,"  I  said,  with  much  feeling. 

"And  I  had  lived  for  nothing  else,"  she  returned, 
with  unfaltering  voice  and  the  same  absence  of  emotion. 

"  Then,  Margaret,  it  has  come  at  last !"  I  cried,  joy- 
ously, the  temporary  cloud  passing  as  she  spake. 

**No,  it  has  not !"  she  said,  with  the  coldest  decision, 
and^  with  that  incongruity  of  thought  which  springs  upon 
us  at  the  most  inopportune  moments,  I  wondered  if  every 
woman  for  whom  I  cared  was  to  change  her  whole  nature 
the  moment  I  left  her  side.  I  remembered  Lucy,  and 
now  here  was  Margaret,  whom  I  had  known  as  the  em- 
bodiment of  impulsive  affection,  fencing  with  a  coolness 
that  enforced  my  admiration.  I  saw  she  had  fully  pre- 
pared herself,  and  instantly  I  resolved  to  change  my 
ground. 

288 


.r 


I    MAKE    A    FALSE    MOVE 


^i 


for  my 

that  it 
3h,  rare 
ped  be- 
air  had 
ivas  un- 
•rted  by 
,dy,  and 
•ounded 
carriage 

,  f  orget- 
,  "  I  can 
[  should 

d.  The 
tone  of 
;he  emo- 
ssession. 
lut  tried 

Bturned, 
motion, 
ied,  joy- 

iecision, 
igs  upon 
if  every 
e  nature 
ttcy,  and 
the  em- 
coolness 
ally  pre- 
inge  my 


"  Margaret,"  I  said,  falling  back  on  the  most  unstudied 
tones  at  my  command,  **it  was  only  yesterday  I  learned 
from  Gaston  the  true  reason  of  your  presence  here.  We 
have  both  suffered  too  cruelly  from  the  accidents  of  the 
past  to  risk  any  misunderstanding  now  for  the  want  of 
perfect  openness  between  us." 

"  That  is  what  I  desire  above  all  things  in  the  world," 
she  answered. 

"  Then  let  us  begin  at  the  beginning.  Why  was  it  you 
never  let  me  know  of  your  plan  ?" 

**  I  do  not  hold  that  any  explanation  is  due  on  my 
part,"  she  replied,  still  in  the  same  tone  of  self-posses- 
sion. "  Remember  I  did  not  seek  this  interview,  and  I 
do  not  see  that  you  have  any  right  to  question  me  on 
matters  which  concern  only  myself." 

"Great  heavens,  Margaret!  Can  anything  concern 
you  and  not  touch  me  ?" 

*'  Once  I  believed  it  could  not.     I  am  older  now." 

"  How  can  you  speak  thus  coldly  ?"  I  cried,  shocked 
at  her  incredible  calm.  "  If  there  is  anything  I  can  do 
or  say,  for  Heaven's  sake,  demand  it.  You  cannot  know 
what  torture  it  is  for  me  to  see  you  like  this.  I  have 
dreamed  of  you,  longed  for  you,  despaired  of  you  through 
all  these  years,  and  I  have  a  right  to  a  different  treat- 
ment.    Is  it  on  account  of  Lucy  ?" 

"  Partly,"  she  answered,  somewhat  moved.  '*  Why 
did  you  never  tell  me  of  her  ?" 

"  How  could  I  ?" 

"  There  was  nothing  dishonourable  about  it." 

"  A  thing  does  not  need  to  be  dishonourable  to  be 
ruinous.  The  dishonour  would  have  been  in  my  speak- 
ing when  I  was  pledged  to  silence." 

''  Was  it  more  honourable,  think  you,  to  allow  a  young 
girl  to  live  in  a  world  of  mock  affection,  and  to  expose 
her  to  what  I  have  gone  through  ?" 

**  But  did  I  ever  by  word  or  sign  make  the  slightest 
T  289 


It 


■SHasaa 


wmm 


\h 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

move  to  engage  your  affections,  after  I  discovered  the 
truth  r 

*'  Pardon  me,  if  I  say  that  question  could  only  serve  to 
embarrass  a  child.  I  will  answer  it  by  another.  Does  a 
man  need  to  speak  to  declare  his  love  ?" 

'*No,  by  heavens,  he  does  not,  Margaret!"!  cried, 
throwing  all  defence  to  the  winds.  *'  It  spetiks  in  every 
tone  of  his  voice,  in  every  glance  of  his  eye,  and  I  would 
be  a  hypocrite  beneath  contempt  were  I  to  pretend  I  did 
not  always  love  you.  I  loved  you  from  the  moment  I 
first  saw  you,  a  girl,  before  Temple  Bar,  and  I  will  love 
you,  God  help  me,  till  I  die  \" 

"  If  this  be  the  case,  then,  had  I  not  a  higher  claim  on 
you  than  any  woman  living  ?  Were  you  not  bound  to 
protect  me  against  my  ignorance  of  such  a  barrier  ?" 

"Absence,  and  I  had  hoped  forgetfulness,  would  prove 
your  best  protection,"  I  replied,  with  happy  inspiration. 

'*  The  implication  is  skilful,"  she  said,  quietly,  without 
a  trace  of  the  emotion  I  expected  from  my  allusion,  **  but 
no  mistake  on  my  part  can  serve  to  lessen  your  want  of 
good  faith  towards  me.  Do  you  think  a  woman  would 
have  considered  any  point  of  personal  honour  where  the 
life  of  one  dearest  to  her  hung  on  her  sacrifice  ?" 

"  It  is  quite  beyond  my  poor  powers  to  judge  of  what 
a  woman  might  do,"  I  replied,  with  a  sudden  rash  indis- 
cretion. '*  I  find  I  have  but  little  knowledge  of  women 
or  the  motives  which  sway  them." 

"  Then  there  is  but  little  to  be  gained  by  continuing 
this  conversation,"  she  returned,  with  a  stately  bow,  and 
swept  out  of  the  room,  leaving  me  to  curse  the  folly  that 
had  betrayed  me  into  so  false  a  move.  And  with  this 
bitter  morsel  for  reflection  I  sought  my  solitary  room. 

Nothing  in  the  world,  short  of  actual  dishonour,  can 
cause  a  man  of  sensibility  keener  suffering  than  the 
knowledge  that  he  has  made  a  fool  of  himself.  This  I  had 
done  to  the  top  of  my  bent.    Why  had  I  not  apprehended 

290 


I    MAKE    A    FALSE    MOVE 

the  effective  point  of  attack  from  the  outset,  and,  instead 
of  attempting  any  defence,  throAvn  myself  on  her  compas- 
sion and  generosity  ?  Why  had  I  not  .  .  .  ?  But  it 
were  futile  to  reiterate  the  charges  I  brought  against  my 
own  folly. 

What  was  the  support  on  which  she  relied  ?  If  her 
brother — then  I  regretted  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart 
I  had  missed  the  occasion  of  squaring  that  account  of 
which  he  had  spoken.  If  a  man  at  all,  it  was  he ;  for 
the  woman  who  had  so  discomfited  me  was  heart-whole  I 
could  swear  ;  a  defiant  modesty  rang  in  every  note  of  her 
voice.  Possibly  the  convent,  that  fallacious  sanctuary 
for  disappointment.  But  if  I  knew  anything  of  her  sex, 
she  was  the  last  to  whom  such  a  retreat  could  bring  satis- 
faction. Heavens  !  It  was  a  coil  involved  enough  to 
drive  a  man  wellnigh  distracted. 


Dinner,  and  the  intercourse  it  entailed,  did  much  to 
restore  me  to  my  ordinary  bearing,  and  when  Kit  sought 
me  in  the  afternoon,  with  a  polite  request  from  his  Cap- 
tain that  I  would  wait  upon  him  when  at  leisure,  I  had 
quite  recovered.  Nothing  could  have  fallen  out  more  to 
my  liking  ;  I  was  anxious  to  discover  his  cause  of  quarrel 
with  me,  and,  if  possible,  to  arrive  at  some  solution  of 
Margaret's  attitude.  So  I  followed  Kit  to  his  room  at 
once. 

Nairn  I  found  a  trifle  pale,  with  a  well-bandaged  head, 
but  his  welcome  was  open  and  unconstrained,  and  his 
greeting  met  me  at  the  threshold.  As  I  advanced  to 
return  it,  I  caught  the  flutter  of  a  dress  out  of  the  op- 
posite door,  which  informed  mo  that  his  sufferings  were 
not  without  certain  consolations. 

I  took  the  haiul  extended  to  me  with  the  same  hearti- 
ness as  it  was  offered. 

''  Will  you  accept  a  broken  man's  apology  for  a  whole 
man's  insult.  Chevalier  ?    I  have  promised  my  sister  that 

291 


I ' 


$     d 


WTOiilTllWIHIMrlMi ,1,1 


u 


i 


li 


f  " 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 

I  wonld  make  you  this  reparation,  and  I  am  heartily  glad 
we  can  return  to  our  old  footing  of  Louisbourg." 

"  Readily,  Nairn.  I  have  seen  your  sister  this  morn- 
ing, and  I  cannot  blame  your  action.  I  might  have  done 
the  same  myself.     Let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  Well,  Chevalier,  the  fortune  of 
war  has  reversed  our  personal  positions  from  Louisbourg, 
but  I  do  not  see  that  the  end  is  much  more  certain  now 
than  then." 

"Much  the  same,"  I  answered;  "the  result  altogether 
depends  on  the  first  ships." 

"  And  I  suppose  yon  abide  by  it  as  before  ?" 
"I  must,  Nairn.  We  need  not  reopen  that  subject." 
"  I  only  mention  it,  because  I  am  anxious  about  the 
future  of  your  boy,  Christopher.  I  congratulate  you  on 
finding  such  a  son.  Will  you  understand  me,  if  I  say  I 
trust  you  have  not  thought  of  influencing  him  to  leave 
our  service,  though  I  could  not  blame  you  wishing  him 
beside  you." 

"Nairn,  I  owe  yon  my  thanks  for  having  broached 
the  subject.  I  have  been  too  dependent  on  my  own  ex- 
ertions all  my  life  to  make  me  a  good  beggar,  even  for 
my  son.  When  in  Louisbourg  you  expressed  yourself  as 
under  some  obligation  towards  me.  Will  you  discharge 
it  by  using  your  best  endeavours  for  his  advancement  ? 
He  is  too  good  metal  to  waste  as  a  common  soldier." 

"  He  is  that  I  And  if  you  allow  him  to  remain,  I  pledge 
my  word  he  shall  not  continue  as  such.  It  may  sound 
presumptions  in  a  mere  captain  to  promise  so  confidently, 
but  if  we  come  out  of  this  successfully,  promotions  will 
follow.  He  has  been  most  favourably  marked  by  the 
General,  and  also  by  our  Colonel." 

"  Let  me  see  ;  he  is  a  son  of  old  Lovat,  is  he  not  ?" 
"That  he  is,  and  in  more  ways  than  one." 
"  If  he  be  like  his  sainted  father,  he  will  have  a  longer 
memory  for  his  own  interests  than  those  of  his  friends. 

292 


)7 


\ 


» 


I    MAKE    A    FALSE    MOVE 

*'Thi8  is  rank  treason,  Chevalier.  I  won't  listen  to 
another  word  of  it,'*  said  Nairn,  laughing.  "  But  I  am 
depending  on  the  General,  he  never  forgets  any  one.  I 
can  tell  you,  too,"  he  added,  eagerly,  **  he  is  a  stickler 
for  birth,  and  he  will  appreciate  the  fact  of  Christopher 
being  your  son." 

"  That  is  a  rare  advantage  !"  I  said,  banteringly. 

"Of  course  it  is  !  Would  you  not  value  a  good  horse 
the  more  if  you  knew  his  pedigree  ?"  he  answered,  with- 
out the  ghost  of  a  smile. 

**  Oh,  come,  come,  Nairn  !  You  must  not  attempt 
flattery,  it  has  too  overwhelming  an  effect.  But,  tell 
me — in  what  manner  did  you  meet  with  your  sister  again  ?" 
I  ventured  boldly,  knowing  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  a  subtler  policy  with  him. 

"  Simple  enough.  She  was  in  the  General  Hospital 
when  I  was  placed  in  command  there,  and  very  pleased  I 
was  to  find  her,"  he  answered,  as  though  the  meeting 
were  the  most  ordinary  affair  in  the  world,  his  tone 
clearly  indicating  that  he  had  concluded  the  matter,  and 
did  ix      ntend  to  reopen  it. 

''  I  should  apologise  for  having  frightened  her  away  as 
I  came  in,"  I  continued,  feeling  for  another  opening ; 
but  he  feigned  ignorance  of  my  move,  and  explained  in 
the  most  natural  manner — "  Oh,  that  was  not  my  sister, 
but  a  very  good  friend  of  hers,  to  whom  we  are  both  in- 
debted for  many  kindnesses." 

**Ah,  that  is  much.  I  trust  she  appreciates  your 
gratitude  in  your  allowing  her  to  nurse  you  ?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  do  not  think  she  looks  upon  it  in  that 
way.  I  believe  there  are  some  women  who  love  the  bother 
of  looking  after  you.  I  try  to  give  her  as  little  trouble 
as  I  can,"  he  ended,  with  a  catch  in  his  voice. 

*'  Nairn,  you  are  a  gentleman  !  Forgive  my  humbug- 
ging." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were,  or  I  shouldn't  have  been  so 

293 


w 


'- 


rwr 


THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 


I! 


11! 


If, 


eimplp  aa  to  jiiiswor  you.  Do  you  know,  I've  often  wished 
I  rould  toll  wluMi  u  man  is  in  carnost.  I'm  no  good  at 
puossing  what  his  intrnt  may  bo  unhiss  ho  has  a  sword 
in  ills  hand  ;  and  as  for  a  wonum,  I  can  novor  toll  at  all." 

"  You'ro  no  worso  off  than  tho  boat  of  us,  in  that 
respoct,  Nairn.  Some  day  I  trust  somo  good  woman  will 
ongago  you  in  dead  earnest,  and  then  tho  (luickor  you 
surrender  at  diseretion  the  bettor.  And  for  your  sake^ 
I  hope  the  day  will  como  soon." 

'•  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  ho  answered,  in  so  woo-bo- 
gone  a  tone  that  I  left  him,  convincetl  his  enemy  had  al- 
ready been  making  serious  advances,  and  that  Ids  dofonco 
was  likely  to  be  as  feeble  as  his  most  ardent  woll-wishor 
could  desire. 

I  discovered  my  ex-Jacobite  sergeant  to  be  as  matter- 
of-fact  as  his  captain.  Ho  would  discuss  military  matters 
freely  enough,  but  on  the  subject  of  our  night's  adven- 
ture I  coulil  not  get  him  to  advance  a  word.  Exempli 
gratia  **  Neil,  how  is  tho  oflicor  you  assisted  on  the  field 
the  other  night  ?" 

**  Indeed,  Captain,  you  must  go  away  in  and  ask  for 
yourself." 

**  You  are  not  uneasy  as  to  his  hurt  proving  danger- 
ous ?" 

*'Not  half  as  dangerous  as  undigested  catechising,  sir, 
saving  your  presence,  and  meaning  no  offence." 

And  in  the  face  of  so  diplomatic  a  rebuke  I  would 
abandon  the  subject  and  fall  back  on  the  safer  ground 
of  mines  and  countermines,  carcasses  and  grenadoes. 

I  made  no  attempt  to  see  Margaret,  for  I  felt  I  would 
be  foolish  to  risk  another  rebutf,  which  might  be  final, 
and  that  my  best  play  was  a  waiting  game.  My  reflec- 
tions had  been  bitter  ;  possibly  hers  would  be  generous. 

The  garrison  was  fully  occupied,  for  M.  de  L6vis  had 
made  such  advances  to  invest  the  town  as  to  call  for 

294 


I    MAKE   A    FALSE    MOVE 


conBtant  wntchfulnoss.  His  firo  thronghout  had  nocoe- 
Harily  boon  lifilit,  as  ho  waw  wrotchoilly  8U|)pli(!(i  with 
artill(M'y,  but  ho  Huccooded  in  bh)win^  up  ono  of  tho 
muf^uzinoH  tho  very  firHt  nij^ht,  ami  thoro  woro  tho  usual 
nunibor  of  casualiioH.  Ooncral  Murray,  on  his  part,  at- 
tempted ono  sortie,  but  aa  it  was  unHuccossfuI,  and  tho 
oHicor  in  command  captured,  ho  thereafter  hehl  himself 
strictly  on  tho  defensive.  No  general  attack  was  at- 
tempted on  our  side,  and  wisely  too ;  for  oven  tho  capt- 
ure of  the  town  would  avail  nothing,  if  tho  first  roin- 
forcemenls  by  sea  were  not  ours. 

I  passed  my  time  making  further  acquaintance  with 
Kit,  whoso  eager  affection  went  far  to  relievo  my  melan- 
choly-, in  a  few  visits  of  courtesy  to  various  officers,  and 
in  renewing  my  friendship  with  (laston  and  with  Nairn. 

Each  day,  as  I  visited  the  latter  towards  eleven  o'clock, 
I  was  treated  to  tho  same  disappearing  flutter  of  what  I 
did  not  doubt  was  tho  same  petticoat,  until  at  length  I 
became  piqued. 

"  Nairn,"  I  declared,  **  I  must  cither  give  up  visiting 
you,  or  you  must  persuade  that  timid  lady-in-waiting 
that  I  am  not  to  be  run  away  from  with  impunity.  Either 
she  must  remain  in  her  place  to-morrow,  or  I  cease  dis- 
turbing her." 

"Indeed,  that  is  what  I  have  been  doing  my  best  to 
persuade  her,  but  she  is  somewhat  shy  until  a  little 
matter  of  difference  between  us  is  settled." 

*'What,  Nairn!  Is  it  possible  yon  have  already  met 
the  fair  one  strong  in  tight,  of  whom  I  prophesied  ?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  with  a  happy  laugh.  "I 
may  as  well  tell  you.  Slic  is  Mademoiselle  de  Sarennes. 
The  only  thing  that  troubles  me  is,  that  she  wishes  to 
leave  the  matter  to  chance." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  the  lady,  first  of  all,  sir.  And 
now,  what  are  the  chances  ?" 

He  moved  uneasily.    "Just  a  woman's  fancy,  I  sup- 

395 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


1 


?      \ 


h 


I; 


f,. 


loose;  but  tshe  wishes  it  to  depend  on  the  arrival  of  the 
ships." 

"What !  Are  those  fatefnl  ships  to  carry  the  decisions 
of  Ciipid  as  well  as  Mars  ?  What  part  are  they  to  play  in 
yonr  affairs  ?" 

"Part  erouf^h.  If  a  French  ship  arrives  first,  she 
marries  rnc  ;  if  an  English,  then  I  marry  her." 

"  Good  heavens,  Nairn  !  What  an  anxiety  to  have 
hanging  over  you  !  Have  you  provided  against  the  possi- 
ble appearance  of  a  Spaniard  ?" 

"Nona  of  yoi.r  nonsense.  Chevalier!"  he  exclaimed, 
hoLiy.  "  This  is  no  jesting  matter  for  me.  Cannot  3'ou 
t'\'ti.Q  anything  seriously?  I  conceive  it  to  make  all  the 
diilerence  in  the  world,  whether  the  man  take  the  woman, 
or  the  woman  the  man.  I  iiate  turning  things  upside- 
down,  and,  if  I  marry  at  all,  I  must  do  so  in  a  decent, 
orderly  way,  like  m-^  ^athers  before  me." 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  but  shouldn't  you  allow  the 
'ady  some  choice,  especially  if  you  should  turn  out  to  be 
a  prisoner,  as  will  certainly  be  the  case  should  a  French 
ship  appear  first  ?" 

"But  why  not  let  me  exercise  the  choice  ?  I  have 
my  feelings  as  well  as  a  woman,"  he  returned,  stub- 
bornly. 

"  That  is  conceivable,  or  you  vvould  never  have  ad- 
vanced as  far  an  your  present  difficulty.  But  I  think 
this  is  a  matter  which  can  be  arranged  with  a  little 
diplomacy." 

"Then  there's  little  hope  for  it  if  the  diplomacy  rests 
with  me,  for  I've  no  more  of  it  about  me  than  a  brass 
carronade." 

"Never  mind.  You  can  safely  depend  for  that  upon 
the  lady.  In  the  mean  time,  pray  present  her  with  my 
compliments  and  congratulations  on  so  ingenious  a  shift- 
ing of  responsibility,  and  remind  her  that  I  expect  to 
pay  her  my  respects  on  the  morrow." 

296 


I    MAKE    A    FALSE    MOVE 


have 
stub- 


Bat  on  the  morrow  I  did  not  keep  my  appointment. 
About  ten  o'clock  that  morning,  as  1  was  with  General 
Murray,  chatting  over  the  fire  in  his  quarters  in  the 
rue  St.  LouJH,  we  were  interrupted  by  an  aide,  who  en- 
tered in  great  excitomont. 

"  Your  Excellency,  a  ship  is  in  sight  from  the  look- 
out!" 

"  Good  heavens,  Kirkconnel !  This  decides  it !"  ex- 
claimed the  General,  rising,  and  generously  extending  to 
me  his  hand.  *'God  bless  you,  whichever  it  be  !"  he 
added,  heartily,  and  wo  parted. 

In  all  haste  I  made  my  way  to  the  Chateau  and  gained 
such  point  of  vantage  as  was  possible.  I  eagerly  scanned 
every  foot  of  the  river,  but  there  was  nothing  I  could 
make  out,  though  from  the  excitement  of  the  little  knot 
at  the  signalling-point  above  it  was  evident  they  could 
sight  her. 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  every  available  foothold 
was  occupied.  Men,  women,  and  children,  soldiers  and 
sailors,  sick  and  sound,  flocked  to  the  rampart"  to  strain 
their  eyes  for  the  reported  sail. 

Suddenly  a  cheer  n?ose  from  the  crowd,  and  all  hearts 
leaped  in  response.  No — it  was  but  a  sailor  climbing 
the  flag-staff  on  the  Cape  to  bend  new  cordage  for  flie 
colours,  and  presently  they  were  unrolled  and  si)read  out 
on  the  sharp  May  wind.  With  every  moment  the  crowd 
in^^reased  ;  the  wounded  even  left  their  beds  at  the  news, 
anu  painfully  crawled  to  have  the  sooner  tidings. 

At  length  her  top-sails  shone  white  over  the  bare  trees 
of  St.  Joseph.  Inch  by  inch  they  grew,  until  the  vessel 
swam  clear  of  the  point,  A  frigate  !  A  man-of-war  ! 
And,  at  the  sight,  the  crowd,  French  and  English  alike, 
set  up  a  shout,  though  as  yet  neither  knew  the  message 
she  would  soon  send  flying  from  her  halyards. 

On  she  came,  and,  the  first  burst  of  excitement  stilled, 
we  hung  on  her  every  movement  in  a  silence  that  was 


^1! 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


^Uf 


almost  painful.  At  length  a  gasp  ran  through  the  crowd. 
Against  her  white  sails  a  black  spot  could  be  distinctly 
seen  running  swiftly  up  to  the  masthead.  No  sooner  did 
it  touch  it  than  it  broke,  and  the  white  field  barred  by 
the  red  cross  of  St.  George  streamed  forth  to  our  waiting 
eyes. 

A  perfect  scream  of  shouts  and  cheers  answered  the 
declaration.  Men  swore  and  blasphemed  in  their  joy, 
some  shrieked  and  laughed  in  hysterical  excitement, 
while  others  broke  down  and  wept  like  children  at  the 
sight  of  their  deliverance. 

Before  long  the  frigate's  sides  were  swathed  in  smoke, 
and  her  guns  thundered  their  proud  salute  against  the 
swarming  cliff,  while  frantic  groups  ran  through  the 
town  shouting  the  news,  until,  from  the  line  of  defences 
opposite  the  Heights,  the  artillery  boomed  forth  in  one 
long,  continuous  roar  its  message  of  exultation  and  defi- 
ance to  the  gallant  Levis  and  his  men,  to  whom  it  meant 
irretrievable  failure  and  despair. 

I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  turned  to  meet  the 
pale  face  of  Gaston. 

''This  is  the  end  I"  he  said,  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

298 


(►+', 


1 4 


^^t 


i'»  !  k 


rowd. 
Inctly 
Bi  did 
•ed  by 
aiting 

ed  the 

ir  joy, 

ement, 

at  the 

smoke, 
.nst  the 
igh  the 
lefences 
I  ill  one 
md  defi- 
it  meant 

neet  the 

yes. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

I   PUT    MY    FORTUNE    TO    THE    TOUCH 

On  that  0th  of  May  which  saw  the  Loioestaffe  anchor 
in  Quebec  to  practically  settle  the  fortunes  of  France 
and  Englarj  i  m  the  New  World,  as  I  walked  back  along 
the  rue  St.  L  >uis  arm  in  arm  with  Gaston,  neither  of  us 
speaking  a  word,  I  determined  that  now  the  time  had 
come  to  put  my  fortune  to  the  touch  ;  and  as  soon  as 
possible  I  sent  word  to  Margaret,  praying  I  might  be 
granted  an  interview,  and  in  a  state  of  anxiety,  not  far 
removed  from  panic,  I  awaited  her  answer. 

She  would  see  me  at  once,  and  I  repaired  to  the  parlour 
where  to  me  she  entered,  pale  and  dignified,  the  nobility 
of  her  soul  shewing  forth  in  every  movement  of  her 
body,  and  its  beauty  in  every  line  of  her  face. 

"  Margaret,"  I  cried,  *'  forgive  me,  it  I  have  forced 
myself  upon  you,  but  I  have  no  courage  to  endure  longer. 
You  have  heard  that  all  hope  for  the  French  arms  is  now 
virtually  at  an  end,  and  I  must  know  what  lies  before  me." 

"That  must  rest  with  you,"  she  answered,  in  the  same 
calm  tone  which  had  so  upset  me  in  our  last  meeting. 

"Then,  Margaret,  I  am  here  to  plead  my  own  cause," 
I  answered,  firmly,  determined  not  to  be  swayed  bj  any 
passing  mood,  ''and  I  plead  in  formd  ponperis,  for  I 
have  no  one  to  rely  on  save  myself,  and  no  hope  save 
in  you." 

"  You  must  not  count  upon  me,"  she  returned,  calmly. 

"  I  cannot  acknowledge  that  you  have  any  claim  upon 

me." 

299 


i\ 


THE    SPAN    O'    LIFE 


I 

II'     r 


-  u 


h^ 


i*      f        I 


f  f,. 


"  I  have  the  claim  which  comes  from  your  own  affec- 
tion, Margaret.  You  loved  nie  once,  and  in  the  strength 
of  that  love  I  stand  to-day.  In  the  name  of  that  love  I 
ask  you  to  hear  me." 

"That  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  You  have  no  right  to 
presume  upon  it  now." 

''  Is  it  presumption  for  one  who  has  lived  in  such 
loneliness  as  I,  to  hold  to  the  one  bright  day  of  his  life  ? 
There  is  no  past  for  the  heart." 

*'  I  will  not  argue  the  point,"  she  answered,  coldly ; 
"but  there  is  a  past  I  have  shut  out  of  mine." 

*'  You  may  try  to  persuade  yourself  you  have,  Margaret, 
but  it  will  come  back  wlien  you  think  it  most  banished. 
I  know  of  what  I  speak,  for  when  I  thought  I  had  buried 
a  past  that  was  torture  to  me  to  recall,  it  has  awakened 
me  to  nights  of  hopeless  regrets  and  empty  longings ; 
it  has  stood  beside  mc,  unsummoned,  when  most  alone, 
and  has  started  into  life  at  some  chance  word  or  token, 
when  in  comp:«ny.  The  more  you  try  to  live  it  down, 
the  more  you  create  a  haunting  memory  to  fill  your 
hours  with  bitterness." 

"Then  I  will  meet  it  with  other  strength  than  my  own. 
I  have  resolved  to  enter  the  Community." 

"So  1  feared.  What  do  you  hope  to  gain  by  so 
doing  ?" 

"  I  will  gain  work,  and  rest — and  peace." 

"No,  Margaret,  you  will  not  gain  peace.  Listen  to 
me.  I  know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself  !  You 
will  find  work,  you  may  find  rest,  of  a  kind,  but  what 
peace  will  come  to  you  even  though  you  are  shut  in  safe 
from  the  chance  evils  of  life,  when  you  think  of  one 
who  has  loved  as  faithfully,  but  without  the  same  hope 
as  yourself,  wandering,  a  broken  man,  because  you  re- 
fused him  admittance  to  the  happiness  you  alone  could 
offer." 

"Do  you  think  it  fair  to  try  me  by  such  an  appeal  ? 

300 


mmt 


affec- 
'eugtli 
love  I 

orht  to 

1  such 
is  life  ? 

coldly ; 

irgaret, 
.nished. 
L  buried 
/akened 
iigings ; 
,t  alone, 
r  token, 
it  down, 
bll  your 

my  own. 

by  so 


jisten  to 
You 
what 
in  safe 
of  one 
,me  hope 
you  re- 
ine  could 


ut 


appeal  ? 


I    PUT    AlV    FOKTUNE    TO    THE    TOUCH 

You  know  I  can  never  be  indifferent  to  your  fate.  You 
know  I  have  thought  for  you  even  above  myself,"  she 
said,  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice  she  could  not  entirely 
suppress. 

I  saw  my  advantage,  and  seized  it  eagerly.  "  Then, 
Margaret,  listen  I  Listen  while  I  plead  for  myself. 
What  have  I  to  look  forward  to,  if  I  lose  you  ?  Behind 
me  are  the  best  years  of  my  life,  wasted  in  this  wilderness 
because  I  had  hoped  to  secure  your  happiness  by  my 
exile.  To-day  I  have  seen  every  hope  of  my  advance- 
ment vanish ;  that  I  can  take  as  one  of  the  chances  of 
war — but  what  have  I  left  if  I  lose  you  now  ?  You  are 
the  whole  world  to  me,  and  all  it  can  offer  is  nothing,  if 
it  does  not  include  you.  Margaret,  my  love  !  Call  back 
the  day  when,  if  I  could  have  spoken,  love  waited  in 
your  heart  to  answer.  Give  me  a  single  hour  of  th^t 
past  now  I  a  moment  of  the  old  love  in  which  to  plead 
for  your  life  as  well  as  my  own." 

Her  f^olour  came  and  went  as  I  spake  ;  she  had  visibly 
lost  that  control  which  had  so  far  baffled  me,  and  when 
she  answered,  it  was  with  the  familiar  name  she  had  not 
uttered,  save  when  she  had  been  surprised  into  it  on  our 
first  meeting. 

*'  Oh,  Hugh,  do  not  try  me.  You  know  not  what  I  have 
gone  through,  and  now  I  am  near  to  God.*' 

''  Margaret,  my  darling,  you  will  be  nearer  God  when 
you  are  beside  the  man  to  whom  He  would  confide  you. 
You  know  I  love  you  with  all  my  soul  I  How  ran  you 
look  for  happiness  apart  from  him  whom  you  have  loved 
so  long,  and  whom  you  love  even  now  !"  I  ended,  de- 
termined to  risk  the  utmost.  "Come  to  me,  Margaret! 
Come  to  me  !  We  will  face  life  together,  and  together 
there  will  be  no  room  for  further  doubtings,  for  further 
mistakes!  I  cannot  shape  my  love  into  words.  It  is 
all  my  life,  all  my  being,  and  yet  it  is  a  poor  thing  to 
offer  you." 

801 


THE    SPAN    0'   LIFE 


11^1 


'I 


'"'Oh,  Hugh,  I  know  not  which  way  to  tnrn." 
^'  Turn  to  me,  Margaret !  Turn  to  me !  If  ever  a  man 
needed  a  good  woman's  love,  I  need  yours  now.  Every- 
thing is  falling  about  me.  I  may  have  no  right  to  ask, 
but  I  cannot  help  it.  My  need  is  greater  than  my 
strength.  Am  I  to  go  forth  into  exile  again  without 
you — Margaret  ?" 

"  Hugh,  my  only  love  !"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  vibrant 
with  tenderness ;  and  with  the  words  she  extended  to  me 
her  trembling,  upturned  hands.  In  my  eyes  it  seemed  as 
though  they  held  all  the  priceless  treasure  of  her  endur- 
ing love. 

For  a  few  days  longer  the  cannon  continued  to  grum- 
ble backward  and  forward  between  wall  and  trench, 
until  the  arrival  of  the  Vanguard,  Diana,  and  Laivrence 
placed  matters  beyond  a  peradvv^nture.  Thereupon  M. 
de  Levis  promptly  disbanded  his  Canadians,  and  during 
the  night  of  the  10th,  under  a  searching  tire  from 
the  ramna^ts,  he  withdrew  from  his  lines,  and  fell  back 
upon  P.schambault. 

The  seige  was  at  an  end.  Within  the  town  officers  and 
men  rejoiced  in  their  escape  from  incessant  duty,  and 
welcomed  the  plenty  which  succeeded  the  semi-starva- 
tion of  the  winter ;  the  towns-people,  as  is  always  the 
case,  were  ready  to  accept  any  rule  which  would  guaran- 
tee to  them  security  and  peace,  while  the  surrounding 
parisi.es  were  gladdened  by  the  return  of  their  volun- 
teers, seeing  therein  a  promise  of  the  renewal  of  the 
quiet  for  which  they  longed.  The  gates  wen*  thrown 
open,  and  once  more  the  country-folk  thronged  within 
the  walls  to  ofier  their  scanty  provisions,  and  to  bargain 
with  the  ''kilties"  and  *' red-coats  "  with  a  confidence 
that  spake  well  for  the  humanising  influences  of  war. 
General  Murray  received  !M.  Malartic,  who  had  been  left 

302 


I    PUT    MY    FORTUNE    TO    THE    TOUCH 


in  charge  of  the  wounded  in  th^'  General  Hospital,  and 
other  of  our  officers  at  his  tabh  in  friendly  hospitality, 
and  ordinary  life  took  up  its  interrupted  course. 

But  with  much  rejoicing  on  the  one  hand  came  sadness 
on  the  other.  'I'lie  news  of  the  death  of  Sarennes  was 
now  received  in  due  course  by  his  mother  and  sister,  but 
was  borne  with  surprising  spirit,  especially  by  the  former, 
who  comforted  herself  with  the  thought  that  the  last 
of  his  house  had  found  death  in  a  profession  which  his 
fathers  had  distinguished  by  their  name,  while  his  sister 
had  both  youth  and  love  to  support  her. 

Kit  was  jubilant  over  his  promotion  as  ensign,  which 
had  happened  even  sooner  than  his  captain  luul  foretold ; 
he  was  received  by  !iis  superiors  and  equals  with  flatter- 
ing congratulations,  and  the  men  looked  without  jealousy 
on  his  advancement.  To  me  it  was  gratifying  to  find  he 
valued  it  not  so  much  for  the  position,  as  for  the  recog- 
nition of  his  proper  standing  as  a  gentleman's  son. 

Nairn  was  happy  in  his  escape  from  the  humiliation  of 
being  asked  in  marriage,  and  impatiently  counted  the 
days  of  mourning  until  he  could  make  his  demand  on 
Mademoiselle  de  Sarennes  "  selon  tons  les  regies  de  la  bien- 
seance."  That  he  was  in  love,  even  to  the  point  of  blind- 
ness, was  amply  proved  by  his  astonishment  that  there 
were  others  in  the  like  case  as  himself. 

**  Capcain  Nairn,"  I  said  to  him,  in  Margaret's  presence, 
the  day  before  his  departure  for  Montreal  with  the  troops, 
"  as  you  are  the  head  of  your  family,  I  have  the  honour  to 
demand  of  you  the  hand  of  your  sister  in  auirriage." 

"God  bless  my  soul,  Peggy!"  he  exeluimcLl,  with  the 
utmost  honesty.  "  i  had  never  thought  of  you  as  marry- 
ing.    I  had  planned  that  you  would  always  live  with 


me. 


» 


**  Suppose,  Nairn,  that  Mme.  de  Sarennes  had  said  the 
same  of  Angelique  ?" 

"  But  that  Ik  different.     You  see,  Peggy  is  .  .  ."  But 

803 


#» ' 


:i  ' 


THE    SPAN    O'   LIFE 

here  he  fell  into  a  sudden  confusion,  and  then,  correct- 
ing himself,  cried,  with  much  vehemence:  **  No,  she 
isn't !  Peggy,  you  are  the  dearest  girl  in  the  whole 
world  !  You  deserve  all  the  world  can  give  you.  You 
take  her.  Chevalier,  with  the  best  wishes  of  a  brother, 
whose  greatest  misfortune  has  been  not  to  have  known 
her  better^" 


n 


And  so  matters  were  settled.  Nairn  marched  with  the 
troops  to  take  his  share  in  what  I  have  always  looked 
upon  as  the  most  admirable  of  Murray's  achievements,  a 
campaign  politic,  rather  than  military ;  at  once  to  over- 
awe and  reassure  the  inhabitants,  and,  this  accomplished, 
to  converge  on  Montreal  with  Amherst  and  Haviland. 

The  situation  in  which  Levis  found  himself  was  im- 
possible, and  it  only  remained  for  Vaudreuil  to  accept 
the  terms  of  capitulation  which  were  offered.  From  his 
point  of  view  they  were  no  doubt  honourable,  but  in  his 
anxiety  to  save  the  goods  and  chattels  of  a  parcel  of  shop- 
keepers, he  saw  fit  to  sacrifice  the  honour  of  those  troops, 
who,  for  six  arduous  campaigns,  had  stood  between  him 
and  his  fate.  Thus,  on  the  8th  of  September,  1760, 
Canada  passed  forever  into  the  hands  of  the  English ;  who 
thus  held  America  from  Florida  to  Hudson  Bay,  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Mississippi.  But  these  events  will 
no  doubt  be  more  fully  related  by  "  the  gentleman  at  his 
desk — "  and  I  will  return. 


n     1' 


i:H 


Soon  after  the  arrival  of  the  victorious  troops  with  their 
prisoners  from  Montreal,  a  double  marriage  was  celebrated 
in  the  chapel  of  the  Ursulines,  General  Murray  stand- 
ing for  Margaret,  while  M.  de  Levis  rendered  the  same 
courtesy  to  Angelique,  and  the  officiating  priest  was  le 
p^re  Jean. 

At  two  we  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  General's  quarters, 
surrounded  by  friends  old  and  new ;  for  those  who  had 

804 


I  PUT  MY  FORTUNE  TO  THE  TOUCH 


arrect- 
o,  she 
whole 
You 
rother, 
known 


ith  the 
looked 
eiits,  a 

0  over- 
ilished, 
ind. 
j^as  im- 

accept 
•om  his 
t  in  his 
if  shop- 
troops, 
en  him 

1760, 
h;  who 

from 
its  will 

1  at  his 


th  their 
ebrated 

stand- 
le  same 

was  le 

carters, 
ho  had 


withstood  each  other  so  stoutly  in  the  field  now  vied  only 
in  expressions  of  personal  admiration  and  esteem.  Pou- 
lariez,  Malartic,  and  le  petit  Joannes  sat  side  by  side  with 
Fraser,  Burton,  and  Rollo,  while  the  two  generals  shared 
the  honours  of  the  feast  with  Margaret  and  Angelique. 

M.  de  Levis  did  me  the  honour  to  request  that  I  would 
supplement  his  encomium  on  our  hosts  by  a  few  words 
in  English,  whicli  I  did  with  poor  enough  effect ;  but  on 
being  called  upiu  on  all  sides  for  a  song,  I  retrieved  my 
halting  prose  with  the  following,  which  I  had  set  to  the 
old  air  of  '^Dalmeny": 

"Though  unrelenting  fate  hath  cast 

In  camps  opposed  our  lot, 
Though  we  have  faced  each  other  oft 

And  Scot  hath  drawn  on  Scot, 
I  cannot  hold  that  Chance,  or  Time, 

Or  waste  of  sundering  sea. 
Can  part  the  banished  hearts  that  meet 

At  one  in  their  Ain  Countrie. 

"We've  sprung  from  every  mile  that  lies 

'Twixt  Tweed-side  and  Ardshiel, 
To  wake  the  corners  of  the  world 

With  clash  of  Scottish  steel. 
We've  kept  our  faith  to  King  and  Prince 

And  held  it  ample  fee, 
If  life  or  death  might  keep  our  name 

Alive  in  our  Ain  Countrie. 

"We've  ridden  fur  for  name  and  fume, 

We've  never  stooped  for  gold. 
We've  led  the  flying  columns  buck 

With  victory  in  our  hold. 
We've  won  undying  name  and  fame  ! 

Yet  all  o'  it  I'd  gie 
To  see  the  red  sun  set  at  liame, 

At  hame,  in  my  Ain  Countrie." 

The  enthusiasm  of  our  generous  hosts  over  my  effort 
formed  a  fitting  close  to  the  festivity,  and  the  refrain  of 
u  305 


u 


THE    SPAN    0'    LIFE 

"Our  Ain  Countrie"  was  carried  forth  from  the  room  to 
pass  from  lip  to  lip  until  the  whole  garrison  was  wild 
over  it,  and  many  a  homesick  fellow  found  sad  consola- 
tion in  my  poor  effusion  of  an  idle  hour.  Such  a  gratifi- 
cation is  the  highest  which  a  man  of  taste  can  receive, 
and  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  more  men  of  genius  do  not 
direct  their  efforts  to  such  pleasing  ends. 


if 


U- 


1 


1    ' 


With  our  friends  Poulariez,  Joannes,  and  others  in 
command  of  the  Royal  Roussillon,  we  were  provided  for 
in  the  Duke,  Captain  Renwick,  where  Kit,  Angelique, 
with  her  husband,  and  a  score  of  English  officers  assem- 
bled to  bid  us  farewell,  so  that  our  leaving  resembled 
more  a  party  of  pleasure  than  the  embarkment  of  a  de- 
feated army. 

But  as  we  dropped  down  the  stream  and  stood  watch- 
ing the  great  rock  of  Quebec,  with  its  fringe  of  batteries, 
and  the  English  flag  flying  where  ours  had  so  proudly 
held  its  place  for  many  a  day,  a  sadness  fell  upon  us  all. 

Margaret  and  I  stood  somewhat  apart  from  the  others. 

'*  Hugh,  dear,  cannot  you  find  some  cause  for  thank- 
fulness ?"  she  said,  softly. 

''Oh  yes;  like  Bougainville,  I  can  at  least  quote  the 
Psalmist :  '  In  exitu  Israel  de  ^Egypto,  domus  Jacob  de 
populo  barbaro.'" 

"  Oh,  Hugh,  do  not  say  that !  It  has  been  a  blessed 
land  to  us.  Listen,  dear,  to  what  has  been  my  comfort 
all  these  years,"  and  with  her  beauteous  face  filled  with 
the  exaltation  of  her  love  she  repeated  : 

"The  span  o'  Life's  nae  lang  eneugh, 
Nor  deep  eneugh  the  sea, 
Nor  braid  eneugh  this  weary  warld, 
To  part  my  Love  frae  me." 
306 


», 


mi. 


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OS.  — 

a^  r  — 

f2    X, 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


^-IIIM  IM 

■   lU    1112.2 


If    liP 


2.0 


1.8 


\A  IIIIII.6 


V2 


e-. 


^W 


^1 


A 


// 


'/ 


///. 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14S80 

(716)  872-4503 


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mmfm 


EPILOGUE 


The  desolate  point  known  as  Tadonssac,  at  the  month 
of  the  river  Saguenay,  in  Canada,  is  the  place  of  exile  of 
a  few  officials  wlio  guard  the  interests  of  the  fur  trade. 

Their  quarters,  a  few  storehouses,  and  the  little  church 
with  its  modest  presbyt^re,  form  an  outpost  to  the  civil- 
ised world.  During  the  summer  season  the  wandering 
Indians  flock  down  in  their  canoes,  build  their  temporary 
huts,  and  a  constant  bustle  of  trade  and  barter  sets  in. 
Furs  are  examined,  valued,  and  exchanged  for  guns, 
ammunition,  clothing,  and  other  luxuries  of  savage  ex- 
istence. The  arrival  of  the  few  ships  necessary  to  this 
primitive  commerce  makes  the  only  other  break  in  the 
monotonous  existence  of  the  little  colony.  At  the  ap- 
proach of  winter  the  Indians  scatter,  and  the  officials 
and  the  solitary  priest  are  prisoners  until  the  spring 
once  more  opens  for  them  the  doors  of  the  outside  world. 

Here  it  was,  on  the  evening  of  the  11th  of  April,  1782, 
that  the  priest  sate  with  his  companions  in  the  house  of 
the  principal  official. 

At  nine  o'clock  he  rose  and  said  good-night  to  his 
hosts  in  his  usual  manner,  but  suddenly  his  whole  ap- 
pearance changed.  Drawing  back,  he  raised  his  band, 
and  said,  in  tones  of  deepest  earnestness : 

**My  friends,  it  is  not  only  *  good-night,'  it  is  *  good- 
bye.' Good-bye  for  all  time,  for  you  will  never  see  me 
again  alive.    To-night  at  twelve  1  shall  be  called  hence." 

807 


THE   SPAN    0'   LIFE 

The  little  company  were  shocked  beyond  expression. 
The  priest  stood  before  them  tall,  commanding,  his  figare 
fnll  of  life  and  vigour,  his  eye  bright  and  unfaltering,  but 
his  face  lighted  with  a  mysterious  solemnity  that  forbade 
qaestioning. 

**  At  midnight  the  bell  of  the  chapel  will  sound.  Yon 
may  come  then,  but  do  not  touch  my  body.  To-morrow 
yon  will  seek  M.  Gompain,  the  cnr6  of  the  Isle  aux 
Coudres,  and  he  will  prepare  my  body  for  burial." 

He  withdrew,  leaving  the  company  in  affrighted  silence; 
ten,  eleven  struck,  and  at  midnight  the  bell  of  the  chapel 
began  to  toll.  They  arose,  awe-stricken,  and  took  their 
way  to  the  little  church. 

By  the  dim  light  before  the  sanctuary  they  caught 
sight  of  the  robe  of  the  priest.  He  was  lying  on  the 
ground  motionless,  his  face  covered  by  his  hands  as  if 
in  prayer  on  the  first  steps  of  the  altar. 

That  same  night  the  bells  of  all  the  churches  along  the 
river,  at  la  Mai  Bale,  at  Les  Eboulements,  at  the  Isle  aux 
Coudres,  at  la  Baie  St.  Paul,  and  up  through  every  parish 
to  Quebec,  rang  without  the  touch  of  mortal  hands,  and 
soon  the  wondering  faithful  knew  that  the  passing  soul 
for  which  they  rang  was  that  of  la  p6re  Jean,  the  mis- 
sionary to  the  Indians,  once  known  as  Jean  Marie  Gaston 
de  Caldegu6s,  VicoTite  de  Trincardel. 

"  Happy  the  people  who  still  believe  these  sweet  and 
holy  legends." 

808 


THE  END 


"— "■"^'■■■■l 


mmmm 


